


Shelter For the Storm

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Series: One Knight Can Make A Difference [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Essos, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 88,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: With Robert fallen at the Trident, Stannis is forced to flee Storm's End, his fate now in the hands of a smuggler. Davos, newly widowed, is just trying to forge a stable life for his children. And Renly, left behind to Targaryen mercy, has no one to rely on but himself.





	1. Stannis I

Stannis was dressed in his mail and watching the sunrise when his bedchamber door opened. He did not have to turn to see who it was.

"The men are asking for you, my lord," Maester Cressen said. "The Tyrells moved their siege engines this morning."

At last, he drew his gaze from the window and rose from his seat. There had been no change in position of the Redwyne ships that had been there for nearly a year. He was not sure what he expected from them if his suspicions proved true. 

"I suppose my brother is dead," he said.

"We have had no word."

"If they mean to take the castle in earnest, then he has failed." Stannis buckled on his sword belt. "Why else should they sit for almost a year before moving? Have you any counsel for me? If Robert is lost, should we surrender?"

"The walls are thick. Storm's End has never fallen. And," Maester Cressen added, "we will not starve."

"Aye, we will not. If the smuggler should return." Stannis still did not know what to make of the smuggler who had relieved their hunger. His first reaction had been anger at the very audacity—smuggling right under his nose when he had charge of Storm's End, directly into the castle, no less.

It had been Maester Cressen who had pointed out that it had been done from the goodness of Davos' heart, and Stannis had been unable to refuse the shipment, not when the lives of Renly and Maester Cressen—and the entire garrison—had depended on it. He accepted that truth, but it did not mean he had to like it. 

"I think he will," Maester Cressen said. "He seemed an honorable man."

Stannis grunted. What smuggler would come so close to meeting justice, only to chance it again? He had never known of an honorable smuggler. It was more like to be foolishness than that. "Take my morning ration and share it with Renly. I am going to see to the walls."

His stomach protested that decision, but he ignored it as he left his bedchamber. Hunger was no stranger these past few months. It kept him alert and focused on his duty. 

"What is Lord Tyrell breaking his fast with this morning?" Stannis asked, as he stepped out onto the battlements. The wind seemed to bite deeper now that he was mostly skin and bones. He tucked his hands into his belt in a vain attempt to warm them. 

Looking upon the near-daily banquets had been the most use they'd gotten from the far-eye during the siege. Stannis knew they weren't just to satisfy the Fat Flower's appetites; they were designed to send the castle's inhabitants into madness. Even little Renly had begged not for tales of knights and glory but of what was on Mace Tyrell's table.

"Nothing, my lord," the captain of his guard reported. "They are all in armor and mounted up."

Stannis took the glass and peered through it. Even without it, he could see the host was massed and prepared for battle. They were arming the siege engines that they had spent a year in perfecting. The walls would stand up to it, but would his men? 

He stood up straight and lowered the far-eye. If Robert was truly dead, he was Lord of Storm's End now. He would not surrender the castle. Only the rebellion of Argella's garrison had opened Storm's End for Orys Baratheon, and Stannis was sure his men would fight to their last, if he had been doing his job for the past year.

"We will hold the castle," he announced, hoping that if the words were spoken aloud, they would be more readily believed. He wished he had something like Robert's talent for rallying men.

"Yes, my lord," the captain said, bowing, but Stannis could see the doubt in his sunken eyes. _We must hold the walls_ , he thought. _We will not long survive a fight._

His stomach growled. One of the men was eating an onion skin. Stannis wished he hadn't skipped breakfast.

"Firepots!" someone down the line shouted. Stannis watched impassively as the catapult flung its payload over the curtain walls on which they stood to land in the courtyard behind them. They were no strangers to that. It was pure distraction. Storm's End would not burn. 

"Another!" the shout came. This one hit the stables, the wooden structure falling easily to the flame. _At least there are no horses in there_ , Stannis thought. They had all been eaten months ago. He closed his eyes. _We will not bend_ , he told himself firmly. _We cannot. No matter what they throw at us._

Ordinarily, Stannis would not have spent all day on the walls once he'd reviewed the men, but it seemed important that he do so now. He needed to be seen among the men, to be there, facing the Tyrells head on. There was no point in retiring to his solar, as there was no work to be done, at least no work that mattered. He was caught in this cycle with no end in sight, at least no end where he emerged victorious.

_Robert must truly be dead_ , he finally decided almost idly, as another firepot soared over their heads. _This is why they are so persistent. My brother is dead. I loved him little, but brother he was._

And what if Robert was dead? That would surely mean his loyal lords—Stark, Arryn, all the rest—were dead as well. Were Stannis' options to die in here of starvation, or by the sword when they were eventually overwhelmed? 

The shout interrupted his grim thoughts. "On the walls!"

Stannis jerked his head to the side. Further down the walls, he could see men overwhelming the Baratheon defenders. Some were cut down, but there were so many of them coming over the walls that they would soon be overrun. 

He drew his sword, wondering if he was truly prepared for combat after all these months of inaction. "For Storm's End!" he cried, hoping this would inspire the men. The smoke stung his lungs and he coughed. Through the haze, he wasn't sure how many were still with him. 

He knew he was not the fighter Robert was, but he would do what he could. If by some chance his brother was still alive, he would not hear of how Stannis had yielded the castle. He would hear that Stannis had died on his feet, with steel in hand.

The garrison fought as fiercely as Stannis could have hoped they would, but they were weakened, and the enemy kept coming. It was not long before Stannis and the few of his men who remained were forced from the walls into the courtyard below. Once the walls were cleared, more siege towers were moved into place, and more men—from Horn Hill, Highgarden, and half a dozen other places in the Reach—surged upon them. 

He started to register more Baratheon dead in the courtyard, but there was no time to see who they were. _At least Renly and Maester Cressen are inside. They will not be harmed._

Then, he saw some of the Tarly men at the gates. _We are through_ , he realized, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His chest burned from the smoke and the exertion. He was the only one on his feet and he felt ready to collapse.

Stannis lowered his sword and watched numbly as the gates opened and the Reachlords rode in with their men-at-arms.

_I could slay Mace Tyrell_ , he thought, as the Lord of Highgarden dismounted. _They would cut me down, but at least one of them would be dead._

"Don't do it, Stannis," said a voice beside him. He had not even noticed Maester Cressen come into the courtyard. _How did he know what I was thinking?_ "It is not worth it anymore. Put up your steel."

Stannis grit his teeth, but he sheathed his sword. "Renly?" he finally asked, as he watched Lords Tyrell, Tarly, and Rowan approach with their guard.

"In his chamber. I told him to bar the door and not to come out unless it was you or me on the other side."

Stannis nodded curtly.

"Baratheon," Tyrell said, lifting his faceplate. "Your rebel brother is dead in the waters of the Trident, slain by the Prince of Dragonstone. Do you yield your castle?"

"It seems you have yielded it for me," Stannis said through his teeth. The revelation that his suspicions were true did not come as a shock, but when he tried to imagine Robert dead, he couldn't. He loved him but little, but he had always been a constant in Stannis' life. Now, he was gone and Stannis felt nothing, was too exhausted to think. 

"Ah, yes, the castle that has never fallen." Tyrell looked up at the great tower before him. "What will history make of Stannis' Defiance?" He beamed at his bannermen, reminding Stannis of Robert waiting for a laugh from his companions. "So, will you give us the hospitality of your hall?"

Stannis glowered at him. "We have neither bread nor salt. You will have to make do without."

Tyrell smiled. "We have plenty of each and more. Shall we go in?"

They did not wait for Stannis' assent before entering the keep. Maester Cressen nudged Stannis' arm gently. "Go," he said quietly. "The more reticent you are, the worse they will be."

Stannis followed, keeping his head high. Tyrell called for food and wine to be brought from their camp. Stannis took a seat at one of the tables in the great hall and watched, seething, as Tyrell consulted with his bannermen from the lord's seat at the high table. His stomach rumbled again. He had visions of himself running the Fat Flower through for one grape.

"Let me take his head, my lord," Tarly was saying. "We should bring King Aerys the rebel's head."

Tyrell looked at Stannis, unsure. Stannis glowered back, jaw tight. If a lord could not decide on a course of action himself, he was not fit to sit the seat.

"It is a drastic punishment." Paxter Redwyne looked at him, too, with something that was almost pity. Stannis felt not unlike an animal in a menagerie. "Perhaps we should give him a chance to bend the knee. Disavow his brother."

"He could take the black," Mathis Rowan suggested.

"I will not do that." They looked surprised when he spoke. It did not help the sense that he was a curiosity to be gawked at. _As though they think I cannot hear them._ "I did my duty in supporting Robert. If you must do yours to your mad king, so be it."

"That _duty_ he speaks of was to rebel against the Crown," Tarly said fiercely. "He must be dealt with. The boy, too. We should eliminate the stain of House Baratheon."

"Renly is but six!" Maester Cressen exclaimed. Stannis had almost forgotten he was there. Maesters of the Citadel were supposed to remain neutral. "My lords, have some mercy, please."

Tyrell stood slowly and started toward Stannis. "And, you," he said, "what have you to say for yourself?"

"Would that you had choked on a fishbone," Stannis said, "while you feasted your host in full view of us. I can only dream I may one day be so honorable as you."

"Who are you to speak?" Tyrell exploded. "You hired a smuggler to run the blockade. You are no more than a common thief."

"I did _not_ hire him," Stannis snapped. He was glad for the food Davos had brought but the flouting of his authority still rankled. He would not have it thought by anyone that it had been his own idea.

"You are in no position to argue, Baratheon. I could slay you now and say you drew on me."

"My lord!" Rowan put a hand on his shoulder.

Stannis did not hear what was said next because there was a commotion at the entrance to the hall. Spearmen in green surcoats entered, led by Ser Axell Florent, and it took Stannis a moment to notice Renly at their center, scowling hard enough to curdle milk. For what seemed like the first time, Stannis saw how thin and dirty he was. With his hollow eyes and long, limp hair, he looked like a street urchin.

"Here he is, my lord," Ser Axell said, giving Renly a hard shove forward. "We had to break the door down, but he didn't put up much fight."

_You fool_ , Stannis thought. _What did you expect from a half-starved six-year-old?_

Maester Cressen rose from Stannis' side. "My lords, respectfully, he does not need to be here."

"He does," Randyll Tarly said firmly. "He must know the price of treachery else we will have another Robert when this one rises with the Tully boy and Eddard Stark's babe." He crossed the room to where Renly stood and crouched in front of him. "Would you bow to the king, boy, or join your brothers in death?"

"I want you to go away," Renly said, with all the contempt his small voice could muster. "We don't want your stupid king." Before Tarly could move, Renly's hand shot out and smacked him hard across the face.

A small smile graced Stannis' lips at that, but it vanished when Tarly seized Renly by the neck of his tunic, lifting him off his feet. "My lord, it seems we have an answer. House Baratheon will be extinguished this night."

Stannis lunged forward and found himself slammed to the floor, teeth rattling when his chin hit stone. Someone put a boot in his back, pressing down hard on the bony ribs under his mail shirt.

"Let _go_ of me!" Renly squirmed, arms and legs flailing wildly. "Put me down, you miserable cur!"

"My lords," Maester Cressen began. "If you will remember Duskendale—"

"My brother's warhammer will bash in your brains!"

Tarly dropped Renly down on the table. "A little late for that, boy."

"Tarly!" Tyrell boomed, with the most authority he'd had all evening. "I will not have you kill a child. Maester, I do remember Duskendale."

"Thank you, my lord." Maester Cressen bowed gratefully.

"The hand, then," Tarly said, seizing Renly's flailing right arm. "He must learn some way."

Maester Cressen's mouth fell open. "Oh, my lord! There must be some other compromise. He is but a child and he knows not what he says."

"Yes, I fucking know what I say!" Renly aimed a kick at Tarly's chest but missed.

_He did not learn those words from me_ , Stannis thought deliriously. _It must have been Robert. He should not talk that way in front of him._

It took every ounce of strength he had to draw breath and force the word out. "Stop!" Every head in the hall turned to look at him. Even Renly stopped struggling to stare.

"Take mine instead," Stannis said desperately. "Let him go and take my hand."

Tarly and Tyrell stared at each other.

"Will you accept that, Randyll?" Tyrell said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Or must you have a child's hand?"

Tarly's answer was to let go of Renly. 

Stannis felt himself lifted, but he shook off the men's hands once he had his feet. He crossed the room alone. Renly scrambled off the table and ran to him, latching onto his leg. "Don't go, Stannis," he said, voice full of tears.

"I must," Stannis said evenly, resting his hand on Renly's head. "Now, let go of me. You must be brave and not cry. Can you do that?"

Renly nodded and stepped back, looking up at Stannis unflinchingly. _He will remember the injustice done our house_ , Stannis thought. _This is how enemies are made. I may die, but my nephews will slay Reachmen._

Stannis laid his sword arm flat on the table. He looked back at Renly. Maester Cressen had come forward to put his hand on his shoulder. Renly was biting his trembling lip, but Stannis knew he would not turn away.

Tarly was looking at Stannis critically.

"Do it," he spat. "No doubt I make an easier target than a squirming six-year-old."

Tarly did not take his eyes off of Stannis' as he drew the Valyrian steel greatsword from the sheath across his back. _Heartsbane, it is called_ , he thought. _I have always wanted to see one up close._

The hall was silent as the sword came down.

Fire exploded up Stannis' arm. He kept his jaw locked to keep from screaming, but a strangled grunt managed to escape. Nausea rolled through him, and for the first time, he was glad he had nothing in his stomach.

There was no sound except for the squeak as Tarly pulled Heartsbane out of the thick oak table and a rough rasping sound Stannis belatedly realized was his own breathing. He looked down. Spots of blackness danced over his vision. His fingers lay on the table, in a pool of blood. It took a moment for him to register that they had been separated, cleanly, from his throbbing hand. His knees began to buckle.

"There is your compromise, Maester," Tarly said, casting a triumphant look at the stricken Maester Cressen. "Half the hand."

This was the last thing Stannis knew before a welcome blackness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to check out the [spinoff story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11485686) by Dethryl, covering the POVs of Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Viserys.


	2. Davos I

"...And they lived happily ever after." 

Matthos and Maric blinked up at him, both still wide awake. Davos held his sigh. Marya had seemed to have the power to carry the children off to sleep just by the cadence of her words. Davos had been struggling to copy her rhythm, just as he'd been struggling to copy everything she had had about her that made the family run smoothly. 

He glanced out the window. Night would be falling soon and Davos wanted to head for the blockade as early as possible to give himself the entire night to deliver his cargo and leave Storm's End again. He had hoped the boys would be asleep early so he could slip out.

"Can we have another story, Father?" Matthos asked, brown eyes bright and eager.

Maric nodded. "Another! With an ogre." 

Davos was about to tell them to simply close their eyes and sleep would come but Dale slipped from the top bunk. "I'll tell them another. You go, Father." Davos didn't know what to say. He stared at his son, ten years old and managing the family better than Davos himself. 

"Thank you, Dale," he said. He squeezed his son's shoulder and left, feeling suddenly extraneous. He made his way back up on deck to put himself to work.

Salladhor Saan was waiting for him when he hauled himself out of the hatch. Davos hadn't even known he was coming over from his own ship.

"Tell me again why you are going back to that lordling who is as like to cut off your hand than to thank you for your contributions?"

"I know too well what it is to feel hunger," Davos answered, his mind still on the children he'd left below. Surely with Dale in charge, they could get into no trouble. "I would not wish that on anyone."

His friend looked unconvinced. "Yes, and you've brought them food once already. Consider yourself lucky to have appeared before the man a confessed smuggler and come away with all your limbs attached."

Davos strode to the railing, forcing Salla to follow him. "A man cannot live on fish and onions. I am taking the lowest risk I can, Salla. If he decides to take his justice on me, you have the orders to give my crew." He paused and smiled, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. "I would not have asked you to come if I did not trust you. Nor would I have asked Merrett to be my first mate if I minded him in charge of my ship."

Salla frowned down at the little boat that was drawn up between their respective ships. Salt pork and flour were being loaded onto it by the two strong men Davos had chosen to bring with him. He would not put his entire crew and ship at risk of being caught, but he also would not let men starve. His Flea Bottom childhood had given him enough of a taste of hunger that he could not turn his back on the castle's inhabitants. 

"Are you wishing to die, Davos? Would you be leaving your boys orphans? What will become of them then?"

Davos winced and turned away. Leave it to Salla to cut right to the heart of the matter. He loved his children, and his dread of leaving them alone was the only thing that had a chance of holding him back from this plan. But it had to be carried out. He was sure that if he could ask her, Marya would agree with him. 

"They will be provided for, Merrett will see to it. We must weigh the risks in all we do. I have no reason to doubt Lord Stannis' gratitude. If he did not hang me the first time, why should he this time?"

Salla's lip curled. "And perhaps gratitude will be convincing him to put you in black, rather than your head on a spike."

Seeing that Wyl and Denys were ready, Davos headed for the ladder. He would never convince Salla, but he knew in his heart this was the right thing to do. "My luck has gotten me this far. I trust it will stay with me."

Salla shook his head. "Luck was getting out of there once. This will be the end of you, in one way or another. The sea tells me this tonight."

Davos smiled. The sea said something considerably different to him. Any trepidation he felt was gone once he was on the water. Being so close to the sea seemed to melt away the mixture of grief and guilt he carried when he was on deck or on the shore. Salla may not have trusted his luck, but he could not argue Davos' skill. He had run many a blockade in his time, and he had already run this one before; he knew Lord Redwyne's habits enough to know they could again slip past the line undetected.

As they approached the entrance to the cavern, Davos allowed himself a smile. The most difficult part was over. Lord Stannis would welcome him back. _The flour will be even more appreciated than the onions_ , he thought. _And they will delight in the pork._

"Unload the cargo," he told Wyl and Denys. They were both good lads, strong and trustworthy. They would have the sacks off in no time. "I must find someone to tell Lord Stannis we're here."

"No need," said a voice. Davos looked up. On the path that led up to the castle stood a stout man with large ears. Behind him were a group of spearmen.

"Thank you," Davos said. "I—"

Before Davos could say anything more, the knight had steel in his hands. Wyl gave a shout of surprise before he died, but Denys did not have even that. Davos braced to be next. _If there are any gods, they will take me quick, back to Marya._

Instead, the knight sheathed his sword. 

"Now, smuggler," he said. "You may come with us. We'll take you to see _Lord_ Stannis."

Davos' heart was pounding. What had just happened was still penetrating the haze of shock that clouded his mind. He could not believe Wyl and Denys were gone, just like that. _I have brought two innocent men to their deaths._ He closed his eyes, as one of the spearmen took his dagger from him. _You were right, Salla. I am like to die here, even if it is not to be where I stand._ He wondered how he had misjudged Stannis so.

They brought Davos up out of the cavern and into the castle. Instead of going up to the lord's chambers, however, they took him down a dark corridor that seemed to twist and turn into the very cliff itself. The only light came from the torches the men carried; none hung on the walls. It was clear that they were not, in fact, taking him to Lord Stannis.

They stopped when they came to a cell guarded by two men. There were torches in brackets burning on either side of the door. Dampness clung to the walls and the smell of the sea was strong.

"Enjoy, smuggler," the knight said. One of the guards unlocked the cell. Davos entered and stumbled. It was not level with the passage but a deep step down for his short legs. There was a puddle of water on the floor. The cell was small and square, dominated by a tall, narrow window cut into the wall. He peered out and was rewarded with a wave of seawater to the face. He blinked, sputtering, and wiped his eyes.

"High tide," said a voice. "You know, our dungeon is second only to the sky cells of the Eyrie for driving men mad. Perhaps we would be first if so many did not drown first."

Davos jumped. In the corner of the cell, not a foot from him, sat Stannis Baratheon. _So he did not betray me._

He was cradling his right hand against his bloody yellow surcoat. The water was draining away through channels cut in the floor, but that did nothing to dry the men inside. Only Davos' face was wet, but Stannis was completely soaked. _How long has he been here?_

"My lord." Davos dropped into a crouch. "What has happened?"

Stannis' lip curled. "The castle has fallen, smuggler. Even your onions could not keep the siege towers from the walls."

Davos didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, my lord." Another wave came through. He shuddered as the water poured over his back and down the neck of his shirt.

There was no change in Stannis' expression, though he did shiver. "I will admit I am impressed you came back," he said finally, voice shaking slightly. "I must apologize to Maester Cressen for doubting him. And to you."

"No need, my lord. I had... A friend urged me not to return."

"Your friend is a wise man. You should heed his counsel in the future, should you ever get to hear it." Stannis paused. "What of your crew? Had you men with you?"

Davos looked down at the still-raw memory. "Dead, my lord. Killed by…"

"Ser Axell Florent," Stannis supplied. "His ears mark his house. I am sorry for the loss of your men. Most of my garrison met the same fate."

Again, a wave kept Davos from having to find the words right away. "Why are you here, my lord? You should not be in a dungeon." He had little idea of how highborn prisoners were generally treated, but they usually seemed to be kept far from the common folk. Imprisoned in a tower, perhaps. Not in the same dungeon as the likes of Davos. 

"The price of treachery to the Crown." In the torchlight, Davos could see Stannis' teeth. He was smiling. _Is he drunk?_ Davos wondered. "This, too." Stannis pulled a grubby bandage from his hand and held it up, palm out. Davos recoiled. The first two joints of his fingers were gone, leaving only four stumps, caked with dried blood. _No, delirious._

"My brother hit Randyll Tarly," Stannis went on. "He is six. They were going to take his hand for it. So I offered mine instead."

Davos felt ill, thinking of his small sons. He could not imagine any of them doing anything that would justify losing a hand.

Stannis rewrapped his hand before another wall of water washed over them. "I do wish it would stop bleeding. I feel rather unwell."

"You must have some attention to it." Davos stood. 

"There is no use bothering. I have already had one bandage out of them. They will give me nothing more."

"I will ask. Anything. Milk of the poppy, mayhaps."

"I will not sleep my way through this pain," Stannis said scornfully. "It is mine to bear."

"And you will not sleep at all while the tide is in." The most reasonable thing for Davos to do seemed to be to ignore his protests. He left Stannis and went to the bars. "Please," he begged the guards. "He needs a maester. He will die."

They remained stone-faced, paying him no mind.

"Have you no mercy?" Davos could feel his anger rise. What sort of people were these men who fancied themselves better than Davos and his ilk?

"None left," Stannis said behind him, over the crash of the waves. "It was a negotiation of mercy that spared Renly's life. I expect I will burn as Rickard Stark did, should I live long enough to meet the mad king."

"Exactly!" Davos leaned through the bars as far as he dared. "If he dies before he can be turned over to the king…" He stopped. It seemed ghoulish to speak of.

But it had gotten the attention of one of the guards. "You think he's right?" he muttered to his partner.

"What?"

The first man jerked his head toward the cell. "If Baratheon croaks before the king gets to burn him. Whose fault's that, then?"

The second guard paled. "He's really dying?"

"Soon, I fear," Davos said gravely. He could not believe he was appealing to this sense in them, but if it helped Stannis, he would do it, mad as it was.

"Shit."

"I'll get the maester," the first man said. A moment later, he was gone, running up the passageway. Davos sat down again next to Stannis. "My lord?" he said quietly.

"Hm?" Stannis was drifting out of consciousness, despite the waves.

"The maester is coming."

"Good."

It seemed like hours. Stannis was in and out of wakefulness, his speech mostly indistinguishable. Much of it seemed addressed to someone named Robert. There was nothing Davos could do besides taking the brunt of the waves himself, as he mourned Denys and Wyl and wondered how he might get out of this situation.

When Maester Cressen at last arrived, the guards locked him in the cell with the two prisoners. He crouched beside Davos. The maester did not seem to mind the water.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Not well, I think." Davos had seen men die of wounds that had corrupted. Often they seemed fine at first, before declining as Stannis had. "Will he die?"

"Not tonight," Maester Cressen said firmly, removing the bandage to examine the wound. In a low voice, he said, "Where is your ship?"

Davos was sure he'd misheard. "Pardon?"

"Your ship." He did not look at Davos, but leaned forward as if examining the wound closely. "Is it much past the blockade?"

Davos' mouth opened and closed a few times. "The mouth of the bay," he said, not sure why this was relevant as Maester Cressen spread some kind of salve on Stannis' mangled hand.

"And you have a crew, I suppose?" It was lucky that the continuous waves drowned out the sound of their conversation.

"Yes," Davos said hesitantly. "And a friend with another ship. They are waiting for me." He paused. "I'm not sure for how long."

"Naturally. We will get you out before first light."

Davos looked out the window. The sky was inky black; he could not see the stars. What time was it now? "What do you mean by that?" he whispered back.

"Exactly what I said." The maester did not look up from his work. "I would ask you to take him with you."

Davos swallowed hard. "I am not sure how I will manage."

"I am an old fool," Cressen said slowly. "I have forsaken my vows." He looked up at Davos. "You know, we maesters of the Citadel are supposed to serve a castle only. But I cannot serve the place. I serve the sons of Lord Steffon. When they lost their father, I suppose I took his place, in a way. I can have no sons of my body, of course. But." He paused, looking down fondly at Stannis. "They are my sons all the same. Will you help me, Davos?"

Davos held the older man's gaze. He felt his jaw tighten. "I—"

The maester laughed softly. "You don't know me from Pate the Pig Boy. I ask too much of you."

"No," Davos said suddenly. He wasn't sure why, only knew that it was the right thing to do. _I cannot let this man die_ , he thought. _Seven help me if I enter this game of lands and titles, but I think I cannot let them kill this man. Not the likes of men who killed Denys and Wyl with their backs turned, for no crime other than volunteering to help me keep these people from starving._ "If you can get me to the water, I can get him out of the castle. I… sail the Narrow Sea. There are many such men of Westeros in exile. I will take him somewhere."

Maester Cressen nodded and rose. "You are a good man. I knew it from the moment we met when you brought us the onions. I will be back."

Davos watched as the guards unlocked the cell and Cressen climbed out. In front of him, Stannis groaned.

"My lord?" Davos asked, moving back over him.

Stannis' eyes fluttered open and fixed on Davos. "Was Maester Cressen here?" he asked, before falling again into sleep.

There was no room to pace. Davos sat in the corner, watching the Lord of Storm's End sleep, unperturbed now by the periodic soakings.

Maester Cressen returned much sooner than he had the first time.

"What are you doing back here?" one of the guards asked.

"I needed to fetch some more salves for Lord Stannis' hand," Maester Cressen explained. "And some wine for the pain."

The guards exchanged glances.

"You can give him the salves," one of them said, taking the wineskin from him and sitting down on the cold stone floor of the passage. "We'll take the wine."

"But he is in pain!"

The guard took a long pull. "Should have thought of that before he rose against the king."

The second guard seized the wineskin and dropped down next to his companion. "Don't hog it all. I'm freezing my arse off, too."

"I beg of you, leave him some!" Maester Cressen pleaded.

"Fuck the rebel," the first guard said, grabbing the wine back. "I ended up on guard duty in the one castle with a bloody hole in the dungeon."

Davos thought it was pointless, but Maester Cressen continued to beg for even just a drop of wine for Stannis. The guards continued to refuse.

Then, one slumped over, asleep. The wine spilled out over the stone floor. His partner soon joined him.

"At last," Maester Cressen said. He knelt and took the key from one of the guards. "Should I have mentioned it was to help him sleep, as well as the pain? Perhaps I should have." The maester unlocked the cell door and stepped down into it. "Stannis, wake up."

Stannis' eyes opened. "Maester, why are you back?"

"You're leaving." The maester helped Stannis to stand.

"I cannot simply _leave_ ," Stannis said, pulling away. "I am the Lord of Storm's End." He stood independently for a moment, then his bandaged right hand found the wall. Davos noticed him wince. "My place is here." 

"And they will burn you," Maester Cressen said fiercely. "You must do this, my lord. Stannis. Davos can take you across the Narrow Sea. Perhaps you will find a way to come back. But now is not the time to think of how you will reclaim your birthright."

"What of Renly?"

"Where you're going is no place for a child. His life is no longer in danger. That is what is important."

Stannis made a disagreeable noise. 

"You have escaped on your own, of course," Maester Cressen said to them, climbing out of the cell. "The guards fell asleep of their own fault. It was obvious to anyone what would happen after that. I imagine Davos could reach the key."

"Of course." Stannis' jaw was set.

"Now for the way out." The old man began moving down the corridor without waiting to see if they were following.

Stannis showed no signs of moving.

"Are you well, my lord?" Davos asked.

He grunted. "I can walk," he said. "I still have my feet." He was breathing hard and beads of sweat stood out on his brow. His black hair was plastered to his forehead. He did not push off from the wall.

"Lean on me," Davos instructed, taking Stannis' left arm about his own shoulders.

"I am afraid I must." His voice was tense and reluctant. 

Together, they climbed out of the cell and made their way out of the winding corridor and back to the rocky cave that had become so familiar to Davos. His boat was still there. At one time, he might have ascribed it to the grace of the gods. With Maester Cressen's help, he lowered Stannis into the boat. Davos went to untie it.

"And where do you propose I should go?" Stannis asked.

"I would determine that later, my lord," Davos said, tossing the rope into the boat. "When you are out of imminent danger."

He noticed the muscle twitch in the younger man's jaw that heralded another protest. Davos pushed off and swung into the boat before it could be voiced.

"I must apologize again, Davos," Maester Cressen said as they drifted away. He looked small and old, alone on the shore. "I feel I have given you an awful burden."

"My freedom is no burden," Davos said, remembering when he had stood in this very spot earlier that night and thought he would die. He set an oar over the stern. This would be harder than it had been coming in, when he had had two helpers, but he could manage it.

Stannis remained silent.

Davos began to row, toward the mouth of the cavern and whatever fate lay beyond it.


	3. Renly I

Renly watched, just as he'd been told, as the Valyrian steel blade came down and sliced off Stannis' fingers. He didn't scream, and neither did Stannis. He just watched as Stannis stood there, shoulders heaving as his blood pooled on the table. 

Renly took a hesitant step forward, but Maester Cressen held him back.

Stannis looked wildly about the hall, and then collapsed in a heap. Maester Cressen ran to him, and Renly followed. 

"Stannis!" He dropped to his knees next to his brother and shook his shoulders. "Stannis, get up." Stannis didn't respond; his face was very pale beneath his dark hair.

"Please," Maester Cressen was saying to Lord Tarly, as he knelt beside Renly. "Let me get something for him." He was holding tight to Stannis' hand, which was still bleeding. The rushes in the hall were sticky with blood under Renly's knees. 

"You can take care of him in the storm cells." Tarly's voice was cold. It made Renly want to hit him again. He looked down at his own hand, still on Stannis' shoulder. _They were going to cut off my hand_ , he thought. _I wouldn't scream either._

Maester Cressen's mouth dropped open. "The storm cells! But he will die."

Tears sprang into Renly's eyes. He didn't want Stannis to die. The storm cells were for enemies. 

"Such is the fate for a traitor."

Men moved in to pick up Stannis and carry him off, shoving Renly out of the way. He reached for Maester Cressen's long robes. He knew it was babyish, but he wanted to hold on to him, if he couldn't hold on to Stannis. 

"No, Renly," Maester Cressen said, pushing his arm away gently. "You need to stay here. Be a good boy." 

And then they were gone. Maester Cressen had left bloody fingerprints on Renly's sleeve. He swallowed hard. He wanted Maester Cressen. He wanted Stannis. He wanted Robert. A tear slipped out, but he wiped it away. Stannis had said he mustn't cry, so he wouldn't. He would be brave. 

Men were still marching back and forth through the hall, their tall boots stepping around Renly like he wasn't even there. 

"My lord, we've pulled down the banners." One of them tossed a bundle of yellow and black to the rushes. "Dragons fly over Storm's End."

Lord Tyrell beamed. "Very good." He kicked at the Baratheon banners with the toe of his boot and Renly felt a flare of fury. Those banners streamed from the highest point of the castle, announcing who held it. _The Baratheons have held Storm's End since the Conquest_ , he remembered Robert telling him when they went walking on the battlements, long ago, before he had had ridden away. _And before that it was the Storm Kings, our blood as well._

It was only then that Lord Tyrell seemed to notice Renly was still there. "Tell me, little Ridley. Do you understand what has happened?" He held up the banner. "Do you know what this means?" 

_My name's Renly,_ he wanted to say, but instead, he said, "It means you came into our castle."

Lord Tyrell chuckled as though Renly had said something funny. “It means that the Baratheons are no longer Lords of Storm’s End, no longer Lords Paramount of the Stormlands.”

"Robert is Lord of Storm's End," Renly said. He didn't know what else to say. It was true. "Stannis is his heir. And then there's me." _Robert will be back_ , he decided. _He'll come riding in with his whole host and slay Lord Tyrell and let Stannis out of the storm cells._

Lord Tyrell smiled indulgently. “Have you ever heard of House Darklyn, Ridley?”

"No."

“They rebelled against the Crown like your brother did. It was called the Defiance of Duskendale. What do you think happened to them?”

Renly scowled down at the banners on the floor. "Someone took their castle." 

“Every member of House Darklyn and almost every member of their allies, House Hollard, was slain. A child was spared, as we have spared you. The king awarded the seat of House Darklyn to someone more deserving. The seat of House Hollard was torn down. It is up to the king what happens to Storm's End.”

Again, Renly fought tears. If they tore Storm's End down, where would he and Stannis and Robert live? "They can't! It's ours! It's Robert's."

"Your brother Robert is dead. Prince Rhaegar slew him on the Trident."

That could not be true. Robert was big and strong, and he could beat anyone with his warhammer. _It's a lie_ , he thought. _That's what enemies do, they lie to get you to believe them, to get you to surrender._

"Robert is dead and your brother Stannis soon will be," Lord Mace continued. "You are lucky to have been spared, and you must be grateful." 

He didn't feel grateful. He felt like crying. His lower lip trembled as he thought about Robert being dead. He wouldn't bring Lady Lyanna back to Storm's End. He would never take Renly hunting, or give him a ride on his shoulders again. And the Reachmen were going to kill Stannis, too. What would become of Renly then? Even though he had promised Stannis he wouldn't, he sank down under a bench and started to cry. 

He cried until his shoulders hurt. By the time he stopped, everyone had left the hall. The only light came from the banked fire. He shivered. He had never been in there alone, had never cried and not had someone come to see what was wrong. 

He saw no one as he climbed the stairs to his room. It was cold and dark in his room, too, with no fire and no candle and his door broken down.

 _Maybe they've forgotten about me_ , he thought. He couldn't imagine what more they would want with him. He pulled off his bloody clothes, thinking all the while of how he'd come to be covered in Stannis' blood. There was nothing more to do than get in bed and try to sleep. Nobody was going to come to tell him a story, because Stannis was in the dungeons, and Maester Cressen was with him, and Robert was dead. 

Renly woke the next morning with wet cheeks and ears. He sat up, confused for a moment before he remembered the previous day, with a gnawing ache in his stomach. Thinking about it made him want to cry, but he wouldn't do that again. He slipped out of bed and got dressed in clean clothes. He left his bloody things on the floor and peeped out into the corridor. Nobody was around, so he headed downstairs.

Outside the great hall, he stopped. There was the smell of something cooking, and it wasn't onions! His stomach growled, and he started running. It was bacon and sausage and fried bread, things he hadn't smelled in months and months. The hall was filled to bursting with men, like it had always been before Robert rode off and told Stannis and Renly to hold the castle. Servants moved in and out of the tables with platters. Renly stared for a few moments, confused. 

No, it wasn't anything like when Robert was there. If Robert were there, he would be waving Renly over to squeeze onto the bench next to him, and all his knights and friends would be laughing. 

That would never happen again. Robert was dead.

These were the men who had fought against Stannis and the garrison yesterday. Mace Tyrell was sitting with his bannermen at the high table. _That's Robert's chair_ , Renly thought, unable to take his eyes off it as he walked down the aisle. _These are our enemies right in our castle_.

"Right here, lad." Renly stopped. It was Donal Noye. "You sit by me." The smith's voice was friendly, but forceful. Renly didn't have to obey him, but he did.

Renly climbed onto the bench. Even though the forge was loud and smelly, he liked the big man. During the siege, he'd been struck by an arrow and Maester Cressen had had to cut his arm off. His left sleeve was now worn pinned up, and Renly was fascinated by it.

"Where's Stannis?" he asked. "Where's Maester Cressen?"

"Your lord brother's in the dungeon." Noye looked grim. "The maester may be with him."

"Is Stannis going to be all right?"

"Gods willing."

Renly crossed his arms on the table and dropped his head onto them. "I hate them. I'm going to kill them when I get big."

Noye looked around. "You be quiet now," he hissed. "They hear you talking like that, they'll do worse than cut off your hand." Noye reached his good arm out for a plate. "Now, eat. That's how you'll grow up big and strong, lad. You eat their food, you give them their lordly courtesies, and one day, I'll make you some garden shears and you can go cutting roses. You understand?" He set a plate of sausages in front of Renly.

"Yes," Renly said, though he didn't. He didn't want to go gardening. He wanted to kill Reachmen.

He looked down at the sausages. They reminded him of Stannis' fingers.

Renly was gnawing on some bacon when Maester Cressen came in. "There you are," he said, coming over to them.

Renly took a big gulp of milk. "How's Stannis?"

Maester Cressen paused. It was the exact sort of pause grown-ups did before they lied. "He is well. He wishes he could see you."

"Can I go visit him?" Renly asked eagerly, ready to jump off the bench. 

"No," Maester Cressen said sternly. "And don't go looking for him. Just know that he is well."

"Maester!" Ser Axell was coming toward them. "Lord Mace wants you."

Renly watched him go. Stannis wasn't well. Could Stannis be dead, too? Again, in his mind, Renly saw the sword come down and chop off Stannis' fingers. He wasn't hungry anymore. 

There was nothing to do now, so he decided to go wandering. There were no lessons and no one cared where he went or what he did. For the first part of the morning, he played hide in the empty wine cellar, but that got too boring, without anyone to seek. He went down one corridor and up the next, until he found himself in front of Robert's room. He reached up and pushed the door open.

It was just how he'd left it, before he'd gone off to rescue Lady Lyanna and bring her to Storm's End. Renly lay on Robert's big bed and stared at the hunting tapestries, wishing for a story. Robert always made up stories about pictures, a different one each time. Stannis was no good at making up stories; he only read them out of books. 

Renly closed his eyes. _I'm on a ship_ , he decided. _The ship is going to White Harbor. They're sending me there because I ask too many questions_. That was the sort of game Renly usually liked; it was just a little bit wicked to pretend to be sent away when he knew Stannis would never do it, no matter how many questions Renly asked.

Today though, it wasn't very fun. He didn't know what the Tyrells would do to him. Maybe _they_ would send him to White Harbor. He rolled to the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor. His foot hit something hard, sending it skittering across the rushes.

He picked it up. It was Robert's knife, the hunting knife he always took with him everywhere. He must have forgotten it. _Did he lose because he didn't have his lucky knife?_ Renly wondered. He slipped it into his boot. Maybe he would pretend to be hunting.

He crept back into the corridor, trying to decide what he was hunting.

"There you are, boy." Renly jumped. He hadn't even noticed Lord Tarly sneak up on him. "I've been looking for you." 

The big man sported a black eye where Renly had hit him yesterday. _Serves you right_ , he thought. _I would do worse if I had a sword._ He didn't move. "Why?" __  
  
"Lord Mace wants a word." Tarly grabbed Renly's shoulder. "Come, boy. You're not too good to be dragged there."

 _I am_ , Renly thought. _My brother is lord of this castle and you can't drag me anywhere._ "I'll come." He squirmed out of Tarly's grasp and followed, every step fueling his hate.

Mace Tyrell was in the solar, standing with his back to the door.

"The boy, my lord," Tarly announced.

"Ah, yes." Lord Tyrell turned. "Little Ridley."

"Renly," he corrected. "R-E-N-L-Y."

"Very good!" He looked up at Tarly. "You may go, Randyll. I would have a word with Renly, man-to-man."

Tarly nodded curtly and left.

"Have a seat."

Renly climbed into the chair next to Stannis' desk. By instinct, he drew his legs up under him, like he was watching Stannis work. But it was Lord Tyrell who sat in the other chair. Renly stuck his legs out and sat properly. He was standing for Stannis and they were going to parley.

"Do you like peach tarts, Renly?" Lord Tyrell was smiling warmly.

There was a plate of them on the desk. Renly eyed them suspiciously. "No," he answered flatly.

"No? Because I would share mine, if you answered my question."

Renly stared at the plate, his mouth watering. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had peach tarts. Not even on his name day. They'd been out of fruit, sugar, and flour by his name day.

He stared at the perfect little circles stacked together. He could smell the peaches. He imagined biting into one, feeling the ridges of the tart with his tongue, the crisp pastry, then the soft peaches. Breakfast seemed forever ago, and he'd been so hungry for so long that he wanted to eat everything he could get his hands on.

"Come on, Renly." Lord Mace pushed the plate forward. "No one's going to hurt you. You may have one now. And then for every right answer you may have another."

Renly hesitated. They could have been poisoned. He looked up at Lord Mace and waited for him to take one. When he did, Renly grabbed one and shoved it into his mouth whole. It was so good. He chewed as slowly as he could, savoring the flakiness of the crust and the sweetness of the peach. Then he reached for another.

"Not yet." Lord Tyrell took another for himself. "A question, remember?"

"What is it?" Renly's eyes were on the plate.

"Where is your brother Stannis?"

Renly looked up at him. "The dungeon." He reached for a tart.

Lord Tyrell pulled the plate back. "No, Renly. I want the truth. Where is your brother?"

"Don't you know where you put him? You had him sent to the storm cells."

Lord Tyrell frowned. "Are you sure you don't know? Are you sure you didn't hear any grown-ups talking about what would happen if the castle fell? Maybe your brother, and your maester, and... a smuggler?"

"The smuggler brought us onions," Renly said. He remembered the smuggler, who had come into the castle on a stormy night. There'd been a lot of yelling and flashing swords, all for one man who was barely as tall as Stannis' shoulders.

"Yes," said Lord Tyrell encouragingly. "And?"

"I only saw him once, then Stannis sent me to bed. But in the morning we had onions." He reached for a tart but Lord Tyrell pulled the plate further away.

"He didn't come to you before he left?"

"Who?"

"Your brother."

"Why would Stannis leave?" It couldn't be true. Stannis would never leave Renly behind with a castle full of enemies.

"To raise his loyal bannermen? To escape justice?" Lord Tyrell leaned forward. "Where is he, Renly?"

"I said _I don't know_." Wasn't that a true enough answer? Grown-ups could be very stupid sometimes.

"We've asked your maester," Lord Mace went on. "He said he didn't know anything."

"Then he doesn't," Renly said fiercely. "Maester Cressen wouldn't lie."

"But nonetheless, they've escaped, your brother and the smuggler both. We want to find them. Your brother was badly injured and he needs the maester."

"Because of _you_ ," Renly snapped. "You cut off his fingers. You killed all the men. You killed Robert." He knew it wasn't true, but he was too mad to think straight.

"Robert died because he rose up against the king. Your brother Stannis as well. You are a child and we have spared you because there is still a chance for you to be the king's loyal subject if you are taught properly."

Renly raised his chin. He cared nothing for being taught properly if it meant he had to listen to the Tyrells."Robert rose up because that stupid prince took Lady Lyanna away. I hate him and I hate _you_." He grabbed a handful of tarts and sprang out of the chair.

Lord Tyrell was surprised enough that he made it through the door without being caught. Outside, Lord Tarly reached for him, but Renly twisted out of the way. He ran down the stairs and took several hard corners until he was sure he wasn't being followed. 

He slowed to a stop and sat against the wall. He had three tarts and he ate them all, though they didn't taste as good as the first one had. His stomach hurt. Robert was gone, and Stannis was gone. Just like Mother and Father, who Renly didn't remember, and Lady Lyanna, who he had been hoping would be his friend when she came to Storm's End. It wasn't fair.

The only dead person he'd known before the siege had been Uncle Harbert. When they'd buried him in the lichyard, the Septon had led them in prayers. Renly didn't remember any prayers. The Septon had been dead for almost a year. 

_Just let Stannis not be dead_ , he thought. He didn't know how you knew if the gods were listening.


	4. Stannis II

The night was calm and still as the small boat slipped silently across the dark water. Stannis lay in its bottom, right hand cradled against his chest, listening to the waves lapping the sides, the thunk of the oar on the boat, looking up at the stars. Dimly, he remembered Maester Cressen taking him and Robert out on nights like this, when there were no storms, and showing them the constellations. That had been so long ago.

"Are you all right, my lord?"

Stannis craned his neck to see Davos. He stood in the back of the boat, rowing steadily. He did not pause as he spoke. An ordinary man might have been afraid to smuggle out the man who would soon be the most wanted in the Seven Kingdoms. He could not decide if Davos was a fool or something else. 

"Are we going to your ship?" He pushed himself up on his good hand and squinted into the blackness. The Redwyne ships loomed over them and were gone, once more enveloped in shadow. 

"Not yet, my lord." Davos did not once pause in his rowing. "We must see my friend first to get you some help. He has a healer on his ship."

As he said this, they came to a craggy outcropping in which Stannis knew smugglers and pirates frequently hid. He had often had men patrolling this area—at least, he had when such authority had been his. 

Davos stopped them beside the larger of the two ships and a rope ladder was unfurled for him. 

"Can you manage, my lord?" Davos asked, taking the ladder in his hands.

Stannis studied it. "I must." He pushed himself up and swung a foot underneath himself. Davos' arm was under his before he could stumble. 

The climb up was difficult for a man of Davos' slight stature, with a burden the size of Stannis. Together they managed it until at last Davos was dragging Stannis onto the deck.

"No." The man who met them at the top of the ladder was dressed in green silk, torchlight glinting off his silver belt. "Absolutely not. Get him away." 

"Salla," Davos pleaded, adjusting his grip on Stannis' waist. Stannis squirmed away from it. The least he could do was stand unassisted. "The man needs help, and you have a healer."

The man sighed. "Davos, Davos, you never do what I say, do you? I am saying don't bring food in to the lordling and you are bringing the lordling out to me. You are like a badly trained hound that cannot hunt properly." 

"A short while only! Just let him be seen. Then I will take him away, but I fear he won't last a long journey without the wound corrupting."

The man stared at Davos for a long time. Davos stared right back, unintimidated. 

Then the stranger fixed his attention on Stannis. "Do you know who I am, lordling?" 

"No." 

"I am Salladhor Saan. Do you know that name? I remember fighting your lord father." 

Stannis turned back to the railing. "Leave me be. A smuggler is one thing, but I will not take help from a pirate." 

"No, my lord." Davos reached for his shoulder and Stannis shook the hand off. "You need a healer. I have had him see to many injuries of mine own in the past. He is from Norvos and very good." He turned back to Saan. "He will be killed, Salla. Burnt by the king. May his blood be on your hands." 

Saan sighed. "Come, come, let us not be displaying him on deck for all to see."

Stannis found himself being led down to Salladhor Saan's cabin. "Here, my lord." Davos pushed him down into a chair. "Rest."

" _My lord_ needs to stop," said Saan. "Are you going to bring him to your crew as Lord Stannis Baratheon? This, too." Saan's fingers tugged at Stannis' surcoat. "If they are meaning to burn you, they will be looking for you. You cannot be Stannis Baratheon. What is your name?"

All the names Stannis knew seemed to fly out of his head. _Robert. Renly. Cressen. Steffon._

"Lyonel," said Saan, white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "There. Your last rebellious ancestor. Storm, if you must be highborn."

Stannis lifted his chin. "I am no bastard."

"I would think you would be a stable groom if it kept you your life." 

Stannis grit his teeth, but he consented to Davos helping him strip down to his unmarked tunic.

The healer came in then and examined his hand, winding off Maester Cressen's now-filthy bandages. "Some wine," he said. "I will need to clean this and stitch it."

Stannis had been expecting the wine to drink, but it was only splashed on his hand. 

"I am not wasting good Dornish strongwine." Saan poured himself a cup and downed it. 

"My lord, are you all right?" Davos asked bending over him when the healer began to sew. Stannis' response was to groan. Davos seized his other hand, but Stannis would not squeeze it. If he could not bear the pain, he was no fit lord. 

The healer was muttering about Westerosi maesters as he stitched. At least he asked no questions. After finishing, he wrapped Stannis' hand in linen before he had a chance to see it properly. 

It was nearly dawn when they left for Davos' ship. 

"Set him off as soon as you can," Saan told Davos as they stood at the top of the ladder. 

"I know what I'm doing, Salla," Davos said patiently. "I will not keep him around long. I will take him across the Narrow Sea. Surely I can find some work that will take me there. Is the trip justified then?"

Stannis shifted, hating to hear them speak of him as though he wasn't there.

"It had better be soon, then." 

"If the winds are good," Davos said. "And may the winds be good to you, as well." 

Stannis felt of clearer head this morning and was able to manage the ladder himself, though having his right hand wrapped in a thick wad of bandages made it awkward. _Once down and then once up_ , he told himself. _The pain will keep me focused._

Davos' ship was smaller than Saan's, as befitted a smuggler's vessel. The crew all assembled on deck when their captain returned.

"Who is this?" asked a big man with red hair. "Where are Wyl and Denys?" 

Davos' brown eyes filled with sadness. "They are dead, Merrett. When we got inside, we found that the castle had fallen to the besiegers. One of their knights slew Wyl and Denys. They sent me to the dungeon. That's where I met Lyonel. He helped me escape. I owe him my life."

Everyone on deck turned to look at Stannis. For a moment, he had forgotten that he was Lyonel. He gave a curt nod, hoping he wouldn't be expected to say too much lest he somehow give himself away. _They won't recognize me. No one here has ever seen me._ Only Davos had come into Storm's End the first time.

"Who are you?" the man called Merrett asked. "Baratheon man?" 

Stannis cleared his throat. "I am Ser Lyonel Storm. I was part of the garrison." A story was coming together in his mind, at least one that would be enough to fool these men. "We were starving. It got to be too much to bear. I took some food, more than my fair share. So Lord Stannis took his justice." He held up his right hand. Even with the heavy wrappings, it was obvious what had happened to him. 

They all stared at it. Merrett let out a low whistle. "But the castle fell, yeah?"

"Yes." Stannis fought to keep the irritation out of his voice. "I suppose he could not hold out in the end." 

One of the other men shrugged. "Let them lords fight it out. We'll take what's left." He shook Stannis' left hand vigorously. He was older than any other man of the crew with wild gray hair and a craggy face. "I'm Byren. Ship's cook. Nice to meet you." He smirked. "Do I call you ser?"

"Lyonel is fine." Stannis wanted to be alone, not mingle with common criminals. _If I were in my hall and you were brought before me, it would be your fingers I would take._

Davos put a hand on his shoulder and he nearly jumped. "Let me show you below," he said. To the crew, he said, "Make ready to sail. We want to be far from here before the castle realizes we've escaped."

Stannis followed Davos down the ladder, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of belowdecks. 

"Please, my lord, take my quarters." 

"No," Stannis said immediately. "That will give me away surely. I am simply a passenger."

Davos hesitated before nodding. "All right. We do have a place for those, though we have few of them."

The room was narrower than the span of Stannis' arms, with a threadbare bunk and a small porthole. 

_As befits me_ , he thought, falling onto the straw mattress as soon as Davos had closed the door. _I am a passenger who can produce no coin, a passenger without a destination._

He spent most of the first day sleeping. The bed was uncomfortable and damp, but it was worlds better than the storm cells. When he woke, he felt better, and when he dared remove the wrappings, his hand looked less angry. Davos brought him meals, and this was how he spent the first two days of the voyage, in uncomfortable solitude, alone with his hand. True to his word to the pirate, Davos had stopped to take on cargo and had told Stannis leaving his cabin would not be wise. All he had was his view out the window.

Stannis feared he would go mad from continuing to stare at the place where sea met sky, but it was better than looking down at the hand in his lap. He clenched his fist again, what was left of it. When he wasn't looking at it, it was almost as if the fingers were still there. He could feel them occasionally, to the point where actually seeing them gone was something of a shock.

He did so now, as if expecting a different sight. He almost admired Tarly's control in the short evenness of the four stumps. Pain flared up from his hand every time he tried to move it, so he did it often, to feel the ache of skin trying to knit together again, of joints missing their opposite number.

Who was he now? Who was Lyonel Storm? _A bastard. Whose? If someone should know my looks for Baratheon, dare I dishonor Father by claiming to be his? Perhaps I am Great-Uncle Harbert's get._

It passed the time somewhat, to imagine himself living the life of a bastard hedge knight. He was deciding upon a place of birth for himself when there was a knock on the door. 

"Enter," he said, not taking his eyes off the window. The sun had set long ago, but there was something comforting about watching the night sky and sea. It reminded him of sailing with his grandfather Estermont as a boy. _Perhaps I will make him my sire. He has certainly tumbled enough serving women to have left any number of bastards._

He had assumed it would be Davos bringing him a tray, but it was Byren who entered. "We were wondering, ser knight, if you might want to join us in the galley." The cook grinned. "We've got good winds tonight, and the captain said we could take the night off." 

Stannis was about to refuse before he remembered that he was supposed to be playing a part. He might seem unusual if he declined to spend time with the crew. _They would probably better like Robert than me_ , he thought, but he stood from his seat on the bed. "Thank you," he said, trying to work the stiffness out of his voice. _He is no servant. We are equals._

Byren led him aft to a small room dominated by a long table which barely fit in it. There was a cast iron stove, but the fire was low, the cooking done. Barrels were crammed in all the corners and a calico cat lazed atop one of them, keeping an eye out for rats. The smell of fresh-cooked food made Stannis' mouth water. It must have shown on his face, because Byren thumped his shoulder.

"I heard how they were doing in Storm's End," he said. "Guess they fed the prisoners even less than the rest of the lot. Sit." He waved Stannis over to the table on which a tallow dip was burning. A group of men sat around it, eating, drinking, and talking. They fell silent when Stannis and Byren appeared.

"This is our passenger," Byren said, waving some men to clear a space for Stannis on the bench. "The one who freed the captain." 

There was a round of appreciative exclamations and back slaps. Stannis stiffened. 

"Sit, sit," Byren said. "I'll get you some supper. And someone pour the man some wine. He needs it more than anyone I've ever seen." 

Stannis found himself with a full cup, some hardtack, and stew of salt pork and beans. He drank and ate silently at first, listening to the chatter of the other men. It was good to have hot food, fresh from the pot. He wasn't aware his preoccupation with his plate had been noticed until someone said, "You must have some tales, being in that place. Bet you're glad to have something to eat."

Stannis pushed his empty plate away. Somehow, he'd drunk all his wine, too. Someone refilled his cup. "I am not one for telling tales."

"But still," Byren said. "We all want to know how you came to us."

Stannis thought for a moment. What would be plausible? "Lord Stannis meant to eat us, I would say, if your captain hadn't shown up." It felt strange to speak of himself in the third person, but it would probably enhance his story more than if he never spoke of his supposed liege and kinsman. 

The men roared with laughter. They found cannibalism amusing, evidently. He didn’t laugh, and they slowly quieted down. 

"He had me on the catapult," he said went on, taking another small sip of wine. "I suppose he meant to fling me at the enemy. His maester convinced him it would be better to keep me alive for meat."

"How'd you get there in the first place?" asked one of the men. "If it was me, I would've left before I had to starve."

"Watch yourself, Wex," Byren said. "This here's a highborn knight. He probably swore an oath to his lord."

"Highborn?" asked Wex. "How you reckon?" 

"He's got a surname. Ser Lyonel Storm. It's a bastard name, but I guess your father was highborn."

"Yes," Stannis said. He'd practiced the story and he thought he knew it rather well. "My mother was a washerwoman at Greenstone."

No one asked for his father's name, though he was ready to give Grandfather's. Greenstone had been chosen because it was the place he knew best after Storm's End, but again, no one pressed him for further details. 

The wine (someone kept pouring more) made him feel pleasantly warm and made the tales flow more easily as Stannis described how Lyonel Storm had been sent out into the world to seek his fortune selling his sword.

"How'd you get to be a knight?" Wex asked. "Did your father knight you?"

"No," Stannis answered. This part of the tale was to be savored. "It was Lord Robert Baratheon." _It is his fault I am here. He may as well contribute something useful to my tale._

"So that's how you come to Storm's End, huh?"

"Yes." Stannis drained his cup, deciding there was more Robert could contribute to his tale. "You see, I was caught by a marcher lord in his own bed with his twin daughters. So I fled—"

"Wait," said Wex. "At the same time?" 

"Yes," Stannis said impatiently. "So I fled into the Rainwood—"

"At the _same_ time?" 

Stannis grit his teeth. "Yes." 

"How does that work?" 

Stannis had always tried not to listen too closely to Robert's stories. "With great care," he said, hoping that would be the end of it and he would not need to betray his ignorance in such matters. "So I fled into the Rainwood. There, I chanced upon Robert being attacked by bandits."

Byren laughed. "You really called him Robert? You sound like you were close."

"After this, we were. The bandits had him tied up and meant to kill him when I burst into the clearing, steel in hand. They descended upon me." He paused. What was a plausible number? The wine was muddling his thoughts. "They were four in number. I fought them off handily. Robert was on his knees thanking me." That was an image Stannis rather enjoyed. "After that, we rode to the bandits' camp together and routed the lot. In gratitude, he knighted me and welcomed me into his household." 

“The soft life, eh?”

"It was a fine life," Stannis agreed. In his mind, Lyonel Storm was one of Robert's followers, one of his gang of knights who cared for little more than carousing. "All the wine and women a man could want." He downed some more wine. "Until the war broke out. I was placed on the garrison at Storm’s End. You see, a bastard could not follow Robert to glory in the field. My reward was to be starved for months on end, and then they took my _fucking_ fingers." The word had just slipped out. It felt surprisingly satisfying. He took another sip of wine. It was unexpectedly easy to talk like Robert. "Then they put your captain in with me. And I saw… I saw that lord."

"The lord with the daughters?" Wex asked eagerly.

"The very one. I knew there was no way I was going to get out of that dungeon with him about. When he came to question us, I knocked him out, dodged the guards and got your captain out of there." He stopped, wondering if that was at all plausible. 

"That's some story," Byren said. 

Wex shook his head. "Really, both at once."

"Where are you headed now?" someone asked. 

"Exile," he said. He drew himself up. His senses were somewhat dulled, but there was an idea, gleaming sharp in his mind. "I shall join the Golden Company."

"That sounds good," Byren said encouragingly. "You were a sellsword before. When you met Robert."

"That's right," Stannis said, pleased to have given himself the appropriate credentials. He set his wine cup down with a thunk, feeling more at home in his new role than ever. "That is fucking right."


	5. Renly II

"Now," said Tarra, clapping her hands together. "What will we wear to greet the prince?" She was smiling the fake sort of smile all of the new maids had when they talked to Renly. It had only been a few weeks since the new servants had come to Storm's End, but he didn't like any of them. He wanted the old ones back. Most of them had left before the siege had begun, and the majority of those who had remained were dead. 

"I want to wear gold and black," Renly said firmly. "They are Baratheon colors."

The light went out of her eyes, but the smile stayed fixed. "But my little lord looks so handsome in blue!" She held up a new doublet, blue slashed with green. "Joy, isn't this one darling?"

"It is." Joy was brushing his hair. "It matches his lovely blue eyes. And someone told me green was his favorite color!"

"My favorite colors are gold and black." Renly crossed his arms over his chest. He hated when they talked about him like he wasn't there. "Robert and Stannis always wore gold and black when they had visitors and I would be like them."

The brush stopped moving through his hair. "Well, this isn't like it was before. It's different now!" She said it like _different_ meant _fun_. "And you will have a new friend to play with." She started brushing again, tugging forcefully through a snarl. "I'm sure you were lonely all this time with no children about."

That was true, but Renly didn’t want to admit she was right.

Tarra had lain out the doublet and was now looking for breeches. "So many beautiful new clothes!" she said. "Aren't you the luckiest boy in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"No." That was another thing he hated about these people, that they made it so that he couldn't enjoy his new clothes. His favorite color _was_ green, at least, it had been before the stupid Tyrells had come. 

The door opened. "They're coming!" one of the new servant boys said.

Tarra looked at Joy. "We have to get him dressed," she said urgently.

Renly stood stock still as they forced the doublet on, then the breeches, then shiny black boots. "Now," Tarra said, pinning the blue half-cape in place with a round silver pin. "A smile."

Renly smiled over clenched teeth. In the mirror, he thought he looked like Stannis.

"Oh, that won't do at all," Joy said faintly.

"No time," Tarra said. "Come on." She took Renly by the hand and led him from the room. The whole way down to the courtyard, he dragged his feet, scuffing his new boots.

The entire castle was gathered to see the arrival of the prince. Renly was deposited next to Maester Cressen. When the maids had gone, his hand found Renly's shoulder.

"You must be good," Maester Cressen said quietly. "Renly, please be good."

"Why?"

"Because." His fingers tightened, then withdrew. "You are a proud stag and you will hold your head high."

Renly looked up at his teacher. _He's scared_ , he thought. He had never seen a grown-up scared before. Even Stannis wasn't scared when the Tyrells were besieging Storm's End. _Why is Maester Cressen scared?_

The portcullis creaked up and the drawbridge was lowered. A long procession passed in. Renly saw dragon banners flapping in the wind. _I hate dragons_ , he thought, although he had so often pretended to be one when he was little. That was before Robert had left, before Robert had been slain by one.

A man at the head of the procession dismounted. "Viserys of House Targaryen, the Prince of the Stormlands!" he announced. All throughout the courtyard, everyone went down on one knee. On his way down, Maester Cressen shoved Renly on the shoulder so he would kneel. 

Renly looked up through his hair as the prince rode into the courtyard. Renly had always known the king had a son around his age, but he had never been to court, and little had been said about the Targaryens since Robert had ridden out. Behind him rode a Kingsguard knight. A real knight of the Kingsguard! Renly stared at him, sitting tall and proud in his saddle, the white cloak streaming behind him. 

_No_ , he realized. _These are my enemies. They killed Robert and they want to kill Stannis. They're all my enemies. There is no prince of Storm's End. There is only a lord, and it's Stannis._

The knight dismounted and then helped the prince down. He his gaze fell on Renly and Renly looked down at the ground. 

"Lord Tyrell," the prince said. "You may rise. Thank you for holding my castle for me." 

"It was an honor, my lord prince."

"You may tell your men to withdraw. Ser Richard, I place you in command of the garrison. Keep my castle strong."

"Yes, my lord prince!"

Renly heard the prince's footsteps approach. They stopped in front of him. 

"Your name is Renly, right?" 

Renly relaxed. _At least_ he _knows my name._ "Yes. My lord prince."

"Rise." 

Renly stood. Viserys was half a head taller, with long silver hair and violet eyes. He wondered what sorts of games Viserys liked to play. He smiled, a genuine smile this time, but Viserys had moved on to Maester Cressen.

"Rise, maester."

Maester Cressen did. "Greetings, my lord prince. I am Maester Cressen. I serve the master of this castle."

Viserys nodded. "My brother told me that maesters are always neutral. I will be glad to hear your wise counsel."

"And I will be glad to give it, my lord prince."

Viserys then turned to the courtyard at large. "I hope you will all serve me well. Most of you are new here, as am I, but I thank those who served the previous occupants who have stayed on to serve me. Rise and go about your business."

Renly scanned the rows of servants as they moved off. There were only a few that he recognized. Most of them had been brought in by Lord Tyrell. 

Viserys turned to Maester Cressen. "I would see my new bedchamber now."

"Of course, my lord prince." He led Viserys and the Kingsguard knight back toward the castle. Renly had not been invited to follow. He stood in the courtyard and waited for someone to tell him where to go.

He watched as stable boys came to take away the horses of the prince's party. The stables were mostly rebuilt after they'd been burnt. The prince had brought a whole train of servants with him and they were busily unpacking the wagons. They carried trunk after trunk into the castle.

 _He thinks he's staying forever_ , Renly thought.

He drifted through the throng, feeling invisible. One day Stannis would come back and claim Storm's End. Until then, what was he supposed to do?

He thought of a story Stannis had once read to him about a little boy in a cave with a bunch of bears. He'd managed to convince them he was a bear, too, to keep from getting eaten.

 _I will be like that_ , he thought. _I will let them think I'm on their side, and when Stannis comes back, I'll let him in._

Renly noticed a pair of pages running across the courtyard. They served Lord Tyrell, so he had ignored them until now, but maybe he should try to be friends with them. 

They had wooden swords. Renly watched as they played at fighting. He edged forward cautiously, torn between having someone to play with and risking messing up his new clothes. They were bigger, but maybe not too much older. _I didn't grow at all last year_ , he remembered. _Maester Cressen said I didn't grow an inch._

Renly watched the two boys until they noticed him. They stopped playing.

"What do you want?" one of them asked. 

Renly lifted his head, trying to be like Robert who was always the leader of his lordly companions. "Can I play?" 

The bigger of the two scowled, but the smaller held out his sword. "Sure. Here."

"Emmon!"

"Ah, he can't hurt anything. He's little."

Renly bristled at the comment. "I'm not little! I'm six!" 

"Do you even know how to hold a sword?" the bigger boy asked. 

"Of course I do." He had seen Stannis hold his sword many times. 

"I'll show him." The boy called Emmon grabbed Renly's hand and showed him how to grip the sword. It felt funny in Renly's hand. He held it up shakily. He would have to learn this. One day, he would wield a sword, and he would slay Lord Tarly. "Good enough," Emmon said.

The other boy stood there, looking unsure. 

"Let's play," Renly said. 

The boy swung at Renly, knocking Emmon's sword right out of his hand.

"Come on, Parmen," Emmon said. "Go easy on him." 

"I was!"

Emmon handed Renly back his sword. "You have to parry." 

Renly lifted the sword, but the tip kept drooping. He tried to be like when he'd seen Robert and Stannis fight in the yard, but it was hard. His arm was already getting tired. Parmen swung again, and their swords connected. At least Renly didn't drop it, but the jolt ran up his arm. 

"Ow," he said. 

"Ow?" Parmen looked like he was trying not to laugh. "That _hurt_?"

"No."

"You said ow."

Renly scowled and swung at the bigger boy. He missed. 

Emmon stifled a laugh. "I guess he hasn't gotten much practice."

"He's a skinny little thing," Parmen said, dodging Renly's next swing. "I guess that's what comes with being traitors."

"I'm not a traitor!" Renly swung harder and the sword flew out of his hand. Emmon couldn't hold in his laughter then. 

Renly felt his neck grow hot. Tears sprang up in the corners of his eyes. They were both laughing now. 

"I think he's crying," Parmen said. 

"I am not," Renly insisted. He went to pick up the sword again, but tears blurred his vision. _They shouldn't even be here. This is_ my _castle._

"He is!" 

Emmon took a step forward and picked the sword up to hand it back to Renly. When Renly reached for it, he held it out of reach. "I don't think I want to play with a crybaby." 

"But you said you would!" Renly jumped, reaching for the sword, but Emmon was taller. "You need to share." The tears were coming too hard to stop now. The more they laughed, the harder he cried, which only made them laugh more. 

He had stopped trying to get the sword back now. He hated that he was crying in front of these older boys, the enemies who he wanted to play with, and hating it only made him cry harder.

"What's going on here?" asked a voice Renly didn't recognize. 

Emmon and Parmen stopped laughing and took a knee. Renly was vaguely aware he should do something like that, but he was crying too hard. He felt a hand on his shoulder and the voice repeated. 

"What's going on?"

Emmon's face was pink. "He asked us to play, my lord prince. We won't play with the traitor."

Viserys frowned. "His brothers may be traitors, but he is only a little boy and of my blood." 

Emmon's eyes went wide. "We're sorry, my lord prince. I--" 

"I understand your wanting to show your loyalty to House Targaryen, but Renly is my family's ward. You will treat him with more respect."

"Yes, my prince," they murmured. 

Viserys turned to Renly. He quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Are you all right, Renly?" the prince asked.

Renly nodded and hiccupped. "Yes. My lord prince."

Viserys put his hand on Renly's shoulder. "Come and play with me now." He led him away from the two pages. "If your brothers had not rebelled, you might have been sent to court as my companion. We are kin. Do you feel better?"

Renly fought embarrassment. Viserys had just seen him acting like a baby, but he didn't seem to care. "Yes. My lord prince." It was hard to remember to add that.

"Good. This is Ser Alliser." He indicated the Kingsguard knight, who just looked down at Renly with piercing eyes that reminded him of Stannis' hawks. "He will teach me arms. You must learn, too. Would you like that?"

Renly nodded eagerly. He would have already started learning, but their master-of-arms was dead. Stannis said they would get a new one after the siege, but of course, that wouldn't happen.

They went into the castle. Renly still wasn't used to having a full complement of servants again. For most of the siege, the castle had been all but deserted. Everyone who passed them bowed. Renly knew it was for Viserys, but he couldn't help that it made him feel important by association. 

Maybe they really could be friends. Yes, Viserys was a Targaryen, but _he_ hadn't killed Robert, no more than Renly had rebelled.

"What do you want to play?" he asked. "I can show you my toys."

"They're still unpacking my toys," Viserys said. "So we can play with yours."

They climbed the stairs to Renly's room. Ser Alliser followed them like a dark, hulking shadow. "Is he with you all the time?" he whispered to Viserys.

"He must be. I am a royal prince. I must have a sworn shield."

"Oh." Renly had almost forgotten about the Prince of Storm's End. _I'm in the bears' cave_ , he reminded himself. _No. The dragons' den._

In his bedroom, he led Viserys over to his toybox. He pushed up the lid and began digging around inside. His eyes first fell on his box of knights. They were his favorite toys, the last things Robert had brought him. He'd had them made special in Gulltown, and Renly didn't like anybody else touching them. He pushed the box to the side and nudged his old baby blanket over it.

"Do you want to ride horses?" he asked, pulling out his hobby horses. "This is my courser and this is my destrier." They looked exactly the same, having once been made for Robert and Stannis, but Renly could tell them apart. 

Viserys stared at for him for a moment, and Renly was gripped by a sudden panic. Were hobby horses too babyish? Maybe a prince would want to play a different game. He remembered the fine pony Viserys had ridden in on. Renly only dimly remembered going riding for real. 

"All right," Viserys finally said and Renly relaxed. 

"You can ride the destrier," he said generously, handing his favorite horse over. "His name is Fury. This one is called Thunder."

Viserys took Fury and mounted up. To Renly's relief, he did not seem to mind playing horses. 

"Where shall we ride?" Renly asked, eager to know what sorts of ideas Viserys would have. He must have seen many more interesting things in the capital. 

"You must show me around the castle. I'm new here, but you must know everything."

"I do," Renly said proudly. Exploring was his favorite thing. When he was little, he'd been afraid to go to some parts of the castle alone, but now he would go everywhere. They rode up stairs and down stairs and raced down long corridors. Viserys always won, but his legs were longer.

Renly told Viserys all about the castle, its history, and the games he liked to play. Maybe now he could play hide-and-seek with someone else. 

"Where are your pets?" Viserys asked him suddenly. 

Renly slowed Thunder to a trot. "We ate them. My pony and my kitten." In truth, he had refused to eat Whiskers, so Stannis had given him the drumstick from one of his hawks. "We had to eat the hounds and hawks, as well."

“You ate a kitten?”

“We had to." Renly tried not to think about Whiskers, who had slept in his bed. He had cried and cried when Stannis had told him they would have to eat her. He repeated Stannis' words, "Even though she was too scrawny to yield much meat."

"How was it?"

Renly thought about Stannis' grim face while eating Whiskers. “Not very good.”

“And the dog?”

“It tasted sort of like mutton, but it felt like beef in my mouth. It was pretty good, actually.”

He wished Viserys would stop asking stupid questions but he wasn't through. “How about the hawk?”

“Gamey. Tough. My jaws got tired of chewing.”

“Maybe some gravy would have helped.”

“If we’d still had gravy, we probably wouldn’t have been ready to eat the dogs,” Renly said darkly. “Though dog could have used some gravy too.”

“Pony probably tasted like horse," Viserys continued as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. "I’ve had horse meat a few times before. It’s not really good, but it will let you keep going, my brother Rhaegar told me.”

“I heard the same thing from Robert and Stannis.”

Viserys frowned. “You shouldn’t talk about them. They’re traitors. I don’t like hearing about traitors.”

Renly swallowed hard, swallowed down his fury that Viserys could talk about his brother all he wanted but Renly could not. “I apologize, my lord prince."

“I forgive you, Renly," Viserys said lightly. “Shall we continue? I want to explore my new castle some more.”

Viserys led them down stairs again and into the great hall. All the yellow and black hangings were gone, had been gone for weeks, but now, servants were replacing them with black banners with gold dragons. 

They rode between the tables, back and forth, making servants dodge out of the way. He would never have been allowed to do this before. But no one yelled at Viserys like Stannis would have yelled at Renly. For one wicked second, Renly was glad Viserys had come. 

"Why do you have bastard colors?" he asked suddenly. He remembered seeing the black shield with its gold stag in the armory and admiring it, though Robert had told him he could never have arms like that, as they had belonged to a long-dead bastard cousin of their grandfather. 

"They aren't bastard colors," Viserys snapped. "The black is from House Targaryen and the gold is a fire color. It no longer signifies bastards of House Baratheon because House Baratheon is no more." He looked at Renly thoughtfully. "Except for you." He pushed Fury to a gallop as they rounded the high table. "This is fun. I think I will like having a castle of my own to do as I please with."

Renly stopped in his tracks. He wasn't having fun anymore.


	6. Stannis III

Stannis' days began to blend together. After his night spent drinking with the crew, he ventured out on deck more often, to take the air. At least his hand was healing. He moved it as much as he could, in the hopes of relieving the stiffness.

The men called to him whenever he walked the deck, but they seemed to realize he wished to be left alone with his thoughts. Davos' sons were a different case. There were four of them and they had taken to following him in various combinations as he paced. He ignored them. They only reminded him of how he'd left Renly behind. _He will be safe so long as Maester Cressen lives, and they cannot kill a maester of the Citadel_ , he told himself, though it was small comfort.

"Are they bothering you, my lord?" a voice asked.

Stannis looked up. Davos was standing beside the crate he was sitting on. Two of the sons—the youngest two, Stannis thought—were watching him. The elder of the pair looked to be nearly of an age with Renly.

"No," he said. "And do not call me that. Your friend was right; it is not safe for you to have me on board."

Davos leaned on the railing, gazing out to sea. "Perhaps."

"Call this repayment for your crimes. If I ever take back what is rightly mine, I will not seek justice on you."

Davos smiled. It did not seem mocking, but Stannis wasn't sure. "Thank you." He paused. "Perhaps it is not too late."

"For what?" Stannis rested his fists on his thighs, discomfited by their unevenness.

"To remake myself." Davos waved to indicate his sons who, having lost interest in Stannis, were now running toward the stern of the ship. "For their sake. You may let me go, but who is to say I will be so lucky the next time, and the next?"

Stannis did not mean to be over-curious, but there was little else to do on a ship at sea. There wasn't a book to be had; none of the crew was a man of letters. "How does one even fall into such a… profession?"

Davos' eyes were on the thin gray line of the horizon. "Because it was a smuggler's ship I joined as a lad."

"And you did not think to change once you became a man and knew right from wrong?"

Davos laughed. "Right and wrong may seem obvious to you in this case, my lord, but no one I knew cared for tariffs or taxes. It was a question of what would leave me with more coin to feed my family."

Stannis did not answer immediately. Now, far from Storm's End, it did not seem that he had ever been a lord's son. Could he imagine going outside the law, if the question was one of feeding Renly or not? _I did just that by accepting Davos' onions. I can claim to be no better._  
  
Instead, he changed the subject. "Have you reason to believe the Golden Company is still in Tyrosh?"

Davos nodded. "They have just finished a great campaign. It is spoken of in all the ports." He turned, studying Stannis. "Are you sure you wish to do this?"

"I must." Stannis stood and joined Davos. The breeze lifted his hair. "Men of greater standing than I have done the same. If any sellsword company can be said to have honor, it is Golden Company. I would choose it over the Second Sons or some other."

"That isn't what I meant."

Stannis braced his palms on the railing. It seemed he could not take his eyes off the four stumps on the right hand. "If you are found to be harboring me, your fate will be worse than death."

"You are right. I only wanted to make sure you didn't feel pressured to leave."

"Nothing of the sort. I must make my own way, as you must make yours."

“As you say. Well, if your mind is made up, I’ll not try to change it.”

"It is," Stannis said. He paused. "I do appreciate your bringing me across the sea." It seemed only right to say it. "You were not obligated to do this. You could have thrown me overboard. No doubt it would have made your pirate friend happy."

Davos laughed. "Perhaps. But it would not have been right."

Stannis nodded. Now they were back to questions of right and wrong. "Tell me," he said, "is it right that I should be here and not in my castle?"

"Perhaps not," Davos allowed. "But I believe any day where I still draw breath is a good day."

Stannis considered this. He had not expected to hear such wise words from a common smuggler. _I could have died back there. Tarly could have taken my head, or they could have sent me to the Mad King's flames._ "I see the truth in that."

"I know nothing of what a lord should do. Only what a man can do. And there was nothing any man could have done but get you out of there."

Stannis looked down at Davos. He was older than Stannis, certainly, but by no means was he an old man. There wasn't a hint of gray in his hair and beard. _He has seen much more than I, common though he may be._ "How old were you when you signed on with that smuggler?" he asked.

"I was five."

Stannis could not hide his surprise. He tried to imagine sending Renly out into the world to make his fortune on his own, tried to imagine doing so himself at that age.

"My life was better on the ship," Davos explained, in the face of Stannis' silence. "My parents had more children than they could feed and when my father died, we had to go. My master was a Tyroshi smuggler." Davos smiled fondly. "It will be good to see that city again. So I thank you for that."

Stannis' lips twitched into a polite smile, but he was still trying to imagine such a life.

"At least I have kept my sons with me, gods be good," Davos continued. "When my wife died…" He paused, his gaze far away. "I could not leave them."

 _Like I left Renly._ "I am sorry to hear about your wife."

Davos nodded. "I miss her." He patted the railing. "Her name was Marya." That was the ship's name, Stannis knew. Davos sighed. "I am not sure if this is a good life for them."

Stannis rubbed the itchy stumps of his fingers. "I am sure you will make it so."

Davos smiled. "Thank you, my— friend."

A gust of wind sent icy spray across the deck. Stannis noticed gray storm clouds gathering above them.

"You should go below," Davos told him. "You can't afford to catch a chill in your state." Before Stannis could say anything more, Davos was striding across the deck. "Matthos! Maric! Below. Now."

Stannis pulled the hood of his cloak up and did as the smuggler said.

The storm lasted three days, and by the time they came out of it, the weather had turned oppressively humid. Stannis wished for home and a cool breeze off Shipbreaker Bay.

Tyrosh stank. He could smell it before they made landfall, even though the city was surrounded by high walls. All cities stank, of course, but this was foreign spices and elephant dung on top of the usual stench of King's Landing.

Davos put a hand on his shoulder as Stannis stood at the railing. "Good luck," he said. "Would you like some help in finding the encampment of the Golden Company?"

"No," Stannis said. "I should burden you no further." He looked down at the borrowed clothes which ill fit his lanky frame. "You have done enough as it is."

"It was no trouble," Merrett said. "That lord was going to kill you."

"Indeed." Stannis clenched his right hand. The pain was still there, but the skin felt less tight. _I am not who I was before. I must play this part, for the rest of my life, perhaps._ "Thank you. I will not forget all you have done for me."

Davos nodded. Perhaps it was Stannis' imagination, but somehow it looked as if he was not content. _No matter. I will never see the man again. He should be grateful I am letting him go without taking my justice._  
  
Without a word, Stannis stalked toward the gangplank.

"Good luck, Lyonel." Byren patted him on the back. "Don't forget us, eh? If that company of yours ever needs a ship, remember _Marya_."

"I will," Stannis promised. _Marya_ was by no means a troop ship, but he supposed it was the sentiment that counted. He did not look back as he made his way down the docks. Ships of all shapes and sizes were at anchor there, and he supposed Davos would pick up a new job here and be on his way. _He has his place in life to provide for his family. Now I must find my own way._  
  
He lost himself in the crowd. A hundred different voices spoke a hundred different tongues and for the first time in his life, Stannis felt truly anonymous. Riding through King's Landing or Weeping Town, he had always been with Robert and their men, and they had always been recognized for who they were. Here, he was no one. Someone jostled him and Stannis felt for the purse he did not have.

He let the crowd carry him along toward the city gates. Perhaps someone would be able to tell him where he could find the Golden Company. It was too hot for his wool clothes and he took his cloak off, draping it over his arm.

He scanned the faces around him, looking for someone who might speak the Westerosi common tongue, but there were no likely candidates.

He would have to employ his High Valyrian. 

"Pardon me," he said to a passing man. Stannis selected him because his clothes were clean. "Know you of Golden Company?" The words sounded awkward in his mouth. He had been a better student than Robert of the language, had prided himself on his correct declensions for Maester Cressen, but he wondered how close it actually was to the tongue spoken in the Free Cities.

The man said something too fast for Stannis to catch, but he could make out _west_ and a word that contained the base word for _opening_ , so Stannis pointed himself at the west gate.

True to his expectations, there was a veritable city of tents just outside the west gate. Men and horses milled around. It was as filthy as any city. Stannis tried not to breathe too deeply. _I must get used to this. It is to be my life._  
  
He had not realized how long he had been standing there, staring until someone spoke to him in the Westerosi common tongue.

"You look far from home."

Stannis jumped. _No one knows me here_ , he reminded himself. _I am Lyonel Storm._  
  
The man who had spoken was shorter than Stannis, with a round face. At least his smile was friendly.

"I am," Stannis said. That was when he noticed the rings the man wore.

"Harry Strickland." Stannis remembered the exile of House Strickland following the Blackfyre Rebellion. 

"Ser Lyonel Storm. I have a mind to join your company."

Strickland smiled. "Well, you won't be the only bastard here. I can show you where to go. Where are you from?"

Stannis' lip curled in distaste at the insult. "Estermont." _Of course you call yourself trueborn. You have been in exile for four generations._ But he had no choice but to follow the man.

Strickland told him that they had recently returned from fighting in the Disputed Lands. They would be off to Volantis next.

"And what brings you to Essos?" Strickland was still smiling, but Stannis read suspicion in his eyes.

"Escaping a lord's justice."

"Not your lord father's?"

"No." Stannis paused, wondering if more lies would be needed. "I was caught abed with a Reachlord's daughters. He wanted my head."

"I can imagine." Thankfully, he looked amused. "A storm sowing flowers?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"I'm taking you to the Captain-General," Strickland explained. "He'll know what to do with you."

The company commander was a man called Myles Toyne. Stannis knew the shame behind that name as well. _And to them I add Baratheon._  
  
"This is Ser Lyonel Storm," Strickland said. "I found him looking a fair bit lost. He told me he intended to join us."

Toyne eyed his hand. "You left-handed, bastard?"

"I am now." Toyne seemed to look right through him. Stannis stared right back. He had always been a poor liar, but he had gotten this far on Lyonel Storm's story. He could get farther, if he could make it his truth.

"Whose bastard are you?"

"Lord Estermont's." Stannis held his head high. "I was trained in arms and I can read and write." _I may dishonor Grandfather but at least I will have him provide for his by-blow._  
  
"And how did you lose those fingers?"

"An accident at sea."

Toyne's questions came without a pause. "You name yourself ser. Who knighted you?"

Stannis told the story again of saving Robert from bandits. They asked more questions than the crew of _Marya_ had.

"Name these bandits," Toyne demanded.

Stannis' mouth went dry. He had never had much imagination. "They called themselves the Seven Brothers of the Rainwood. Their leader was Rolph the Reaver," he said.

"Sounds like a fearsome bunch," Strickland said. Stannis could not tell if he believed him.

"They were," Stannis said.

"What's your weapon?" Toyne asked.

"Sword." It felt good to be able to answer a question truthfully.

"Short sword? Long sword?" He grinned. "Bastard sword?"

Stannis clenched his jaw. "Short sword." It would have to be something he could manage one-handed. Perhaps this had been a mistake.

Toyne nodded and pushed a paper toward him. "Sign."

Stannis' right hand twitched by its own accord, but he picked the quill up in his left and signed a shaky _Lyonel Storm_. He had been unable to practice on _Marya_ as there had been no quill and parchment. It was not bad for a first try.

"Welcome to the company," Toyne said. "Go and get yourself armed. Harry'll give you your advance."

Stannis tried not to show his eagerness in taking the coin. In the armorer's tent, he chose the lightest sword he could find and a dagger. He would have to teach himself how to fight left-handed. He selected armor, too, light mail that he could get into and out of himself. He would not rely on anyone else.

He felt better once he had a sword at his side, even if it was on the wrong side. It was good to have coin, as well, and it was with these that he returned to the city in search of a bathhouse.

He had not bathed in weeks, and he was happy to surrender the coin. He would soon have more, when the Golden Company marched off to their Volantene war. He didn't relish the idea of more fighting, but it would be better to do it with a full belly, rather than starving inside his castle, unable to do more than fling refuse at the enemy.

The foreign bathhouse was a strange place, but he soon got the idea. He scrubbed himself raw in the cold bath, before settling himself in the steaming hot bath to soak. He sank into the warm water, resting his hand on the side. He was almost becoming accustomed to the sight of it. Twinges of numbness still radiated from the stumps, although massaging the hand helped. Perhaps the warm water would do it some good.

Stannis closed his eyes. At least he still drew breath. It was a good day.


	7. Davos II

Davos was glad to be back in Pentos. Not only was he glad to deliver the shipment he had picked up before leaving Westeros, but he was eager to obtain another contract and put more gold in his money pouch.

It would be good for the men to have a rest, as well. They deserved it, after the sea crossing and the unplanned visit to Tyrosh, where they had stopped only long enough to let Stannis off. None had complained, and now he was gone, safely into exile, without any of the crew discovering who he truly was.

Davos tried not to pay him a second thought. _It will be good for him. Surely better than remaining here_. Davos could sympathize with the young man who'd had his life turned upside down in a matter of days, but he was sure Stannis could make something of himself with Golden Company. Those were his sort, exiles though they may have been. At any rate, they were swordsmen, not smugglers. 

Now it was time to put his mind to his work.

"Dale!" he called to his eldest son as he crossed the deck. "Come with me, and see how we make our gold."

He watched Dale out of the corner of his eye as they made their way down the gangplank. He would be a man before Davos knew it. He was ten, and growing fast. It was time for him to see what the work truly was. It would all be his someday, to share with his brothers, if they wanted.

The docks of Pentos was like any other. Ships from all ports were tied up and Davos kept Dale close as they were jostled by passersby. He felt at home in a foreign port, but he could not keep his father's worry fully at bay. Davos enjoyed the variety, however, though he sometimes wished his sons would grow up with more stability. Dale watched, wide-eyed, as a man with an enormous green bird perched on his shoulder passed them. _Stability is good, aye, but they would not see sights like this if they were in Flea Bottom.  
_   
"Davos! Is that you?"

He turned, hardly believing his own eyes. "Argo!"

The green-bearded Tyroshi making his way toward Davos from his ship was beaming. "I thought it was you. It's been years. This can't be your son?"

"He is. My firstborn." Davos urged Dale forward. "Dale, this is Argo Lestoris. We were cabin boys together when I first went to sea."

Dale murmured a shy greeting.

"A fine boy," Argo concluded. "I have heard you've made quite a name for yourself continuing in our old master's tradition."

Davos thought suddenly of Stannis' bafflement that Davos should follow Roro's footsteps. "The gods have been good to me there."

"What brings you to Pentos?"

"I delivered a cargo. I was hoping to pick up some more work here." He put his hand on Dale's shoulders. "There are three more besides this one, and it seems you must feed them."

Argo threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, and that will keep me from having any of mine own."

Dale blinked up at them. Davos smoothed his hair. "Do not listen to him," he assured him. "Too much salt air."

"As though your father doesn't suffer the same. Tell me, my lad, how do you like sailing?"

"I like it," Dale said firmly. Davos felt himself relax a hair. He had not let himself think that the boys might not enjoy life at sea, could not afford to. But Dale's eyes shone with genuine enthusiasm as he talked of climbing rigging and playing with (in truth, minding) his brothers. "We go lots of places and meet lots of people," he added.

"To be sure. What's the farthest you've been?"

"The Arbor to the west and Lys to the east."

"Very impressive. How would you like to see Slaver's Bay?"

Dale's eyes went wide. "But how?"

"A man of my acquaintance is looking for a smuggler." Argo had a twinkle in his eye that reminded Davos of the look that had heralded much mischief in their youth. "I would take the job myself, but alas, I cannot take such a long journey."

Davos frowned. "You mean for me to take the job? For what does he want a smuggler?"

Argo shrugged. "He would not tell me. Only that he had need of a man willing to go to Slaver's Bay. I told him I could not, but that I would find the man."

"I cannot take a contract I know not what for."

Argo put his hand on Davos' shoulder. "Then come and meet the man. There's much gold in it for you, I promise. A worthy Magister by the name of Illyrio Mopatis."

Davos considered this. It would be far, but what would it hurt to meet the man?

Illyrio Mopatis lived in a great manse in the center of the city. Davos had never been invited into such a fine place.

Argo stopped at the gatehouse. It was guarded by a group of slaves in spiked caps. The men stared straight ahead, unflinching.

"Tell your master I've found him his smuggler," Argo said. One peeled off and went inside. "Unsullied," he added conversationally to Davos and Dale. "You know what that means, lad?"

Dale shook his head.

Argo smirked at Davos. "Well. I'll leave that for your father to tell you." Davos shifted, adjusting his breeches. _Regardless of my lot in life, at least I did not suffer that.  
_   
"The Magister will see you now," the slave said, upon his return.

They were ushered through a courtyard and up a short flight of stairs. Most of the rooms were open and a gentle breeze blew through the manse. Davos could hear the trickling of several distant fountains.

Illyrio Mopatis was sitting on a bench in a garden. He took up the entire bench on his own. A young woman stood behind him, stroking his hair.

"Is this little Westerosi the man you would recommend, Argo?" he asked, looking Davos up and down. "He doesn't look like much."

Argo grinned. "A smuggler shouldn't look like much. That's how they carry out their business. This is Davos."

"Wise words." Illyrio raised his hand. "Some wine for my guests." The girl departed. Dale's eyes followed her progress. "Sit." Illyrio waved a beringed hand at the bench opposite him. "First, tell me, can you read and write?"

"No. But it never hurt my work."

"Tell me your credentials."

"I slipped past the Redwyne fleet to relieve the garrison at Storm's End. I've sailed past the Chequy Port at Braavos without the inspectors so much as batting an eye. And I've traded with wildlings without the Night's Watch knowing."

Illyrio listened patiently, hands resting on his belly. "An impressive track record. And I trust you must be a fine sailor if you learned from Roro Uhoris."

"If I know even half of what he did."

Illyrio smiled. "And you have not met his fate as yet. I think that speaks to your skill as well. Have you sailed far east?"

"Not east of Volantis," Davos answered truthfully. "But sea is sea."

"I would not know," Illyrio said. "I am not a sailor." The girl returned with the wine. Dale looked at his brimming goblet with trepidation. Davos took it from him and set it on the table. "But few men of worth will sail so far. Will you?"

"If the gold is right."

Illyrio laughed. "Is that the sort of man you are, Davos? Would you do anything for the right price?"

"No. What is it you ask me to do? I would weigh job and price before I decide."

"I have arranged to purchase something from a man in Elyria. Payment has already been made, so you have not to worry about losing my gold." His smile was sly as he stroked one of the forks of his beard. "I only need you to retrieve it for me."

Davos sipped his wine. "Will I be able to do that without knowing what it is?" 

"I think that should not be difficult. He will be expecting you, and you will have my letter and my seal."

“And if he does not give up the cargo?”

"Then that would be very dishonorable of him."

"I am a smuggler, Magister. I know that not all men are honorable."

"Rest assured, I would not blame you for the actions of another. And I have Argo to vouch for you. Will you take the job?"

Davos paused, making it look as though he was savoring his wine, which he was. Slaver's Bay was far, yes, but he had nothing tying him to any particular location. In times past, he would not stray too far from Westeros so that he could always go home to Marya, but… He would have his sons with him no matter where he went.

And perhaps it would be wise to go a little further this time, just in case any word should have gotten out about his escape from Storm's End. He doubted the Crown or the Reachlords had any way of knowing who or where he was, but they must have realized he was the one who had helped Stannis escape.

"What do you offer me?"

"Five thousand dragons," Illyrio answered. "Five more on your return."

Even Dale sat up straighter at that. _Ten thousand golden dragons. We could live well off that, even after the crew received its share. Is it worth the risk?  
_   
"I accept," Davos said. "It is a pleasure, Magister."

"Indeed." Illyrio shook Davos' hand. "Tell me where your ship is docked and her name. The gold will be delivered to you by nightfall."

After they'd finished their wine, Davos, Argo, and Dale were ushered out of the manse.

"Now," Argo said, arm going around Davos' shoulders. "Would you offer a friend something for his troubles? A friend who directed such fortune your way?"

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." Davos smiled. Being with Argo was making him feel young again. "Let me take you out tonight, Argo. We have much to catch up on and I want to treat you in thanks for finding me this job."

Argo grinned. "So liberal with your gold, Davos. And all for running into you by chance. I shall have to prowl the docks for old friends more often. I know a tavern we can begin spending your pay in. It is a bad thing for a man to carry around so much coin."

Davos smiled.

"Can I come?" Dale asked eagerly. 

"Not tonight." Davos smiled. "You will have plenty of time in your future for taverns. Besides, I need to catch up with Argo."

Davos went out again at the appointed time, after the boys were in bed. He felt guilty leaving them, but they were safely asleep and Byren knew where he was. Argo was waiting for him at the base of the gangplank. "I see you named your ship for your wife."

"Aye." Davos looked up at the letters painted on the side that he could not read. "It was the least I could do."

Argo clapped him on the shoulder. "I am truly sorry. One would not have blamed you for giving up sailing altogether and staying home with your boys."

Davos forced his feet forward. "I could not do that. Smuggling is all I know. I wouldn't be able to feed them if I stayed home."

"Your Dale seems to like it."

Davos nodded. "He has taken to it. It's the little ones I worry about. They will never know the stability of a home."

"Home is what you make it. How old are the little ones?"

"Allard is eight, but Matthos and Maric are only five and four."

"And what were _you_ doing at eight?"

Davos felt a small smile lift his lips. "I was with you and Roro."

"And was that not a stable home? Was Roro not a good surrogate father for us?"

"He was." Davos thought about what he remembered of his parents and the crowded house in Flea Bottom. They had been good parents, no doubt, but his father had been in too much pain near the end of his life to impart the sort of lessons Davos tried to impart in his sons. Most of what Davos tried to teach them had come from Roro, and Argo was more his brother than not.

"I think your sons will be fine. They already have more than most by having you for a father."

Davos thanked him for the sentiment and tried to push such heavy thoughts from his mind as Argo led him to one of his favorite watering holes. There were happy memories to reminisce over, too, as Argo reminded Davos of the first time they'd snuck off to get drunk, weaving back to the docks through the streets of Braavos. They had not been much older than Dale then.

But it hovered over him like a dark cloud, a dread he'd felt since he'd returned home to find her sick. No matter what he could give the boys, it would never be as good enough as what they could have given them together. And then there was the raw emptiness of the loss of his partner in life. Living for his children was one thing, but there would come a time when they no longer needed him.

And if Marya were alive, he certainly would not be entertaining one mad plan after another. Perhaps he still would have smuggled the onions into Storm's End, but he surely would not be finding his way to Slaver's Bay.

And even then, if something happened to him, the boys would be alone. Was this truly a wise decision?

Either way, he'd already accepted the job. He would have to complete it. And if something did befall him, the crew would take in the boys, as Roro had taken him and Argo in. And there would be plenty of money to provide for them.

"Do you have any idea of what Magister Illyrio could be buying that he would pay that kind of coin for?" Davos wondered aloud.

"No." Argo yanked open the door to the tavern he'd been telling Davos about, bathing them instantly in light and sound. "I don't question them. Nobody likes a smuggler who asks too many questions."

Davos frowned. That was certainly true, but he could not shaking the gnawing feeling that a few questions were warranted.


	8. Renly III

Renly squinted into the bright winter sunshine as he stood behind Viserys and Maester Cressen. Even more new people were coming, filling Storm's End with their strange banners. There was no one he knew left, besides Maester Cressen and Donal Noye. The newest arrival was a new castellan, Ser Cyrian Swann. Renly had heard of the Swanns; Ser Cyrian's brother had fought with Robert, but had been one of the stormlords to bend the knee.

 _Traitors_ , he thought, as the black and white banners came to a halt.

At least the Reachlords had finally left. He'd gotten sick of seeing Lord Tyrell, Lord Tarly, and the others at the high table every meal. Viserys had taken over Robert's chair, but Lord Tyrell had long occupied Stannis'. 

He would never forget that Lord Tarly had cut off Stannis' fingers. He still had bad dreams about that, the big sword, the blood. 

_Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill_ , he remembered. _Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden._ He had made sure to learn their faces, their heraldry, the names of their castles so that he might know them and kill them when he was a man grown. Donal Noye would make him a sword, or perhaps a warhammer. He thought he might like to learn to use a warhammer.

Renly was pleased to see the two pages leave, too, was glad Viserys had picked him to be his friend. He was fun to play with; he liked to use his imagination as much as Renly did. He was always pretending to be a dragon. 

Ser Cyrian dismounted his chestnut horse and took a knee before Viserys. He was tall and blond, older than Robert, but not as old as Maester Cressen.

“My lord prince, I am Ser Cyrian Swann. I have come forthwith by royal command to offer my service to you.” He presented a scroll, still sealed with the three-headed dragon.

“Maester Cressen?” Viserys asked.

“Prince Rhaegar did send word, my lord prince.” Maester Cressen broke the seal. “This appears to be in order. By your brother’s command, Ser Cyrian is the new castellan of Storm’s End.”

"Welcome, Ser Cyrian," Viserys said. "I am pleased to have you as my castellan. It is nice to know that some stormlands houses remained loyal to the crown."

"My lord prince, may I present to you my niece, Lady Jeyne Swann?"

Renly watched the blonde maiden step forward and curtsey before Viserys. "It is an honor, my lord prince."

Viserys turned to Renly. "This is Renly. My ward."

Renly forced a smile, remembering what Donal Noye had said about courtesies. He bowed as he had been taught. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Cyrian. Lady Jeyne."

"Ah yes," Ser Cyrian said. "Is he your only companion, my lord prince?"

They were walking toward the castle now. Renly followed, quiet like a shadow.

"Renly is a fine companion," Viserys said. "I don't need any other."

"Naturally, my lord prince. But your lords bannermen are eager to send their sons to be your friends. These will be the men you ride beside one day. You must know them well."

They went inside, and Renly moved of to make his own pleasure. These were the lonely times, when he missed Robert and Stannis the most, when Viserys was busy with lordly duties. He could have played pretend by himself, but he was not in the mood, not when he couldn't go skipping into Stannis' solar and tell him what he was being. 

He wondered where Stannis was now. He hoped he was alive and preparing to take back Storm's End. Was he rallying the survivors of Robert's army? Or maybe hiring sellswords?

 _Yes_ , he decided, as wandered onto the battlements. The smell of the sea filled his nostrils. He could see Shipbreaker Bay if he stood on tiptoes and dragged himself up. One day soon, he would be tall enough on his own; he would not need Stannis to lift him up. _Stannis will raise an army of loyal men and sail back here. I'll open the gates and his host will ride right in, and then Stannis and I will ride for Highgarden and put them under siege._

He would need to learn to fight if he was going to help Stannis in his campaign. It was past time for that, and he and Viserys would soon begin lessons with Ser Alliser.

Renly was bouncing with excitement all through breakfast the morning of their first lesson.

"I had already begun to learn with Ser Willem before I came here," Viserys said grandly. 

Renly didn't remind Viserys about why he hadn't begun to learn arms. Ser Gawen Wylde, the master-at-arms had been caught trying to sneak out and Stannis had nearly had him flung from the catapult, so Renly had never begun training. He had been too tired anyway, most days. 

"Finish your breakfast, Renly," Maester Cressen reminded him. "We must be thankful for the food Prince Viserys has brought us."

"Thank you, my lord prince," Renly said obediently, as much as he loathed to do so. He ate a few more bites, remembering how bad it had felt to be hungry. 

Viserys hadn't finished his breakfast either, but Maester Cressen hadn't said anything to him. "It is the responsibility of a prince to feed his people," he said. 

_Stannis and I will feed our people_ , Renly thought bitterly, as he swallowed some more porridge. _We'll never let them go hungry again._  
  
At last, Maester Cressen said they had eaten enough, and Renly and Viserys hurried outside to the courtyard. It was a sunny day, what Robert would have called perfect fighting weather. Renly stopped at the edge of the flat ground where Robert and Stannis hard learned arms, the same as all Baratheons before them. Renly felt his sword arm itch. He was ready. 

Ser Alliser was already there, standing with his arms behind his back. A pair of wooden swords and some padding lay at his feet. He did not say anything. Viserys seemed to know what to do, as he went right over to a set of padding and put it on. Renly watched him and did the same. It felt funny to wear so many layers. He could barely move. He bent to pick up his sword, lost his balance, and fell over.

"It seems we must wait, my prince," Ser Alliser said tightly, "while the little fawn finds his feet."

Renly pushed himself to his feet and took up his sword once more. "I'm not a fawn," he said. "I'm a stag."

"And what is a stag before it's grown?"

Renly crossed his arms over his padded chest. "A buck." 

"A fawn." 

Renly scowled but knew it was wiser to keep quiet if he wanted to learn to fight. _Once I learn from Ser Alliser, I will be able to kill Lord Tyrell and Lord Tarly at Stannis' side._

He joined Viserys in front of Ser Alliser and the Kingsguard drew his sword. 

“This is a sword," he said. "This is the blade. Don’t touch it, because it’s sharp. You’ll cut yourself. We won’t be using live steel yet.” He gave Renly a withering look. “Perhaps not for a long time. But there is plenty of it around, and you’d best be careful. If I hear that the maester has to treat you for cuts, there’ll be trouble.”

Renly's scowl deepened. He'd been around swords all his life and he knew not to touch them. He wasn't a baby. His brothers were great warriors. 

Well, Robert was a great warrior, and Stannis could conduct himself with honor. 

Ser Alliser wasn't finished. He turned the sword in his hand. “The part that is not the blade is the hilt. This is the crossguard. When you cross blades with someone, they can slide their blade down yours and cut at your hand. The crossguard prevents that. This is the grip. This is where you hold the sword. It’s often wrapped in cord or leather to improve the grip. This is the pommel. It balances the weight of the blade. If you didn’t have this, you’d never be able to hold a sword or swing it or control it.”

Renly shifted from one foot to the other during this little lecture. He may have never learned with a master-of-arms, but Stannis had at least explained all this. He sighed.

Ser Alliser's hawk eyes snapped to him. "Am I boring you?"

“No, Ser Alliser,” Renly said, suddenly embarrassed, “but I already know about the parts of a sword.”

“Oh you do, do you? Well, since you know so much, perhaps you would like to give the lesson. My lord prince, let us pay heed to the words and wisdom of Ser Fawn the Graceful."

Renly looked down, ears burning, loathing Ser Alliser for drawing attention to him. _I'm a brave stag_ , he reminded himself _. I'm a brave stag._  
  
“Continue, Ser Alliser,” Viserys said, head held high like the perfect student.

“Yes, my prince. All the parts of the sword are important. They all serve a purpose. They come together to form a tool that is greater than the sum of its parts. It is a thing of beauty.” He spoke passionately, and for the first time, Renly heard real emotion in his voice.

At last Ser Alliser declared that it was time to pick up the practice swords. Renly tried to remember how Emmon had shown him how to hold the sword, but it still felt awkward in his hand. He wished Stannis had been able to show him this part, but he'd been far too busy to do more than impart the occasional bit of wisdom when they walked the walls together. 

He blinked furiously to bring himself back to the present. This was the _last_ place he could let himself cry.

"Now," Ser Alliser said. "The first rule of swordsmanship is endurance. If you cannot hold your own against your opponent, all is lost. You will start by holding the sword."

Renly looked down at the sword in his hand. He was already doing just that. 

Viserys took up a position, looking like he was ready to begin fighting. He'd obviously had this lesson before. Renly copied him and waited for further instruction from Ser Alliser. None came. 

They stood there for what felt like a long time. Renly's arms were getting tired, but he wasn't going to stop, not while Viserys didn't look tired at all. He gritted his teeth and shifted his shoulders. 

His arm shook and the sword wobbled. 

"Are you tired, little fawn?"

"No," Renly said sharply. He tightened his muscles, willing the sword to stay straight. He wouldn't let Ser Alliser have the satisfaction of seeing him drop it. 

His shoulders began to tremble. _Stannis' sword is heavy and he can lift it. There is no reason I can't do the same._ Ser Alliser was circling them, his gaze fixed on Renly. _He wants me to drop it._

The swordpoint drooped. Renly tightened his wrists, but his fingers uncurled and the sword clattered to the ground. His arms flopped at his sides like noodles, his muscles burning.

“Pathetic,” Ser Alliser growled. “Not even five minutes. If you can’t even hold the sword, how do you expect to use it, weakling? You’re useless. Pick it up! Pick my sword off the ground and give it back to me. Be lucky I don’t thrash you with it for wasting my time.”

"Let me try again," Renly ground out. 

“You’ll not try. You’ll _do_. You will practice every day, all day, until you can. Look at Prince Viserys. He hasn’t moved an inch.”

Renly bent, arms still shaking and picked the sword back up. He knew he could be just as good as Viserys. Even if his family had won the war. _I'm a proud stag_ , Renly thought. He took up the position again, this time vowing not to let it fall. 

When Ser Alliser finally let them go, Renly could barely move. His whole body felt exhausted, like it had right before Stannis had brought him the first onion. 

Viserys went back into the castle, but Renly's wobbly legs carried him to the forge. Donal Noye was sitting outside. Renly wondered if he'd watched the whole lesson. "Here, lad, have a seat." 

Renly's knees gave way and he collapsed in the dirt, not even thinking about how much he disliked dirt. 

"Quite the morning you had."

Renly made a reply that wasn’t quite words.

"Get up, lad."

"Can't move." Renly was breathing hard. He was sure he couldn't even lift his arms. He didn't even care that his clothes were going to get dirty or that his hair was spread out in the dust. "I can't do it."

"Oh, you can't?" Noye snorted. "Not going to be a knight, then?"

"No." 

"Hm. Then what should you be? I could use some help in here." 

Renly sat up and wrinkled his nose. The forge was dark, smelly, and dirty. 

"Don't like that, hm?" He rubbed his chin. "What else is there?"

Renly hunched his shoulders. He didn't know what he wanted to be. He had always been certain he would be a knight and ride in tourneys. Knights were handsome and gallant and wore bright armor. But Renly could barely raise his arms after that. 

"If everyone gave up after one try, none of us would be anywhere. I've been here a long time, lad. Your brothers struggled at first, but they got the hang of it, the both of them. You should have seen the first time your lord brother tried to lift his first warhammer."

Renly frowned and picked up a stick. He tried to imagine Robert at his age. He had always just been there, always strong, always big. Could he have struggled, too? "Viserys already knows how to fight."

"That prince is older and he wasn't under siege for nearly a year. You'll catch up."

"It isn't fair."

Donal Noye sighed. "Of course it's not. Life isn't fair, my lad. I'm sorry you had to learn it like this, but it's true. You've had an easy life. Most boys would give their eyeteeth to live like you do."

Renly traced his stick through the dirt. He wasn't sure about that. If they were lowborn, he'd still have Robert and Stannis. 

"Look at me," Noye said. Renly looked up. The smith patted the spot where his arm had once been. "We all have to live with what we're given. This is my lot in life. Yours is to be a knight. There's nothing either of us can do but live with what we're given. Can't change what's happened anymore than you can change the nature of metal. All you can do is work it until it's the shape you want it to be."

Renly looked down at his stick. Maybe that was true. He couldn't make Stannis come back, and he couldn't get rid of their enemies. He remembered Maester Cressen telling him to be good. _That's why_ , he thought. _I can't do anything myself. I'm too little. I just have to wait._


	9. Stannis IV

The hot sun of Essos beat down on Stannis' head as he staggered over to the low wall and collapsed beside it. Around him, hundreds of his companions were doing the same, but he paid them no mind. Even with weeks of getting full meals, he still felt weak after a long march like this.

He took off his helm and let his head fall back against the wall. He didn't remember the name of the town they'd just taken, somewhere north of Volantis. All the places he had been ran together in his mind. 

_A sellsword must not care_ , he told himself, lifting his canteen to his parched lips and taking a greedy swallow of lukewarm water. _In a moon's turn, we could be fighting on the other side._ He moved to pour the rest over his head, but got only a few drops. He cast a glance at the well, several yards away, crowded with men. He would make the journey in a few minutes, when he had marshaled his strength.

Suddenly, a stream of cool water from above plastered his overlong hair to his forehead and the back of his neck. Stannis leaned back, words of thanks on his lips, and found himself looking into the face of a man with fiery red hair and a beard to match. 

He froze. He knew this man. Somehow. He was Westerosi, certainly, and he searched his mind for the context. A friend of Robert's? A son of one of their bannermen—or his bastard?

"You looked needy, friend."

Stannis lowered his head. If he recognized the man, there was the possibility that the man recognized him. "Thank you," he muttered.

The enigma dropped next to him. "Haven't seen you before. What do men call you?"

Stannis drew a knee up to his chest and pulled his right glove off. Good. An introduction meant the man would be compelled to give his own name. If this man knew him, he did not know him as a bastard missing fingers. "Lyonel Storm."

"Ah, a fellow stormlander. Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost. Or I was." He paused. "You look familiar." 

Panic coursed through Stannis. _Connington! Of all the foul luck. Of course he is here, but why did he have to find me? The former Lord of Griffin’s Roost, yes, but also former Hand of the King, friend to Prince Rhaegar. If there is one man who must not discover me, it is he._

He had not been expecting to see anyone he knew, as much as he could be said to know Connington. Griffin’s Roost was sworn to Storm’s End, but they had met only once, when Jon’s father had brought him to Storm's End, not long before Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana had left for Essos. Stannis had been just three-and-ten at the time, so perhaps he would not be recognized. 

"Perhaps you knew my lord father, Eldon Estermont?" He lifted his chin, willing Connington to focus on his Estermont jawline, and not the rest of him, which was all Baratheon. 

"Aye, but I didn't know he had a bastard."

"He did not exactly seat me at the high table."

"No, of course not." Connington sighed ruefully. "I apologize. I meant no insult. We are far from home and I only hoped to find someone I might know." He paused. "I suppose you rose with Robert?"

"Not for any reason other than accident of birth," Stannis said with distaste. That was not a lie, no matter what side of the sheets he was born on. "I was part of the garrison at Storm's End."

"How did you get out of there without starving?" 

Stannis held up his hand. It had not impressed the crew of the _Marya_ but perhaps Connington, a fellow lord, would understand. "I took more than my share of rations and paid the price."

Connington nodded. "I had heard the brother was a harder man than Robert. What was his fate?"

Stannis ran an awkward hand through his hair. "I left when the castle fell. I know not yet what became of Stannis."

"He was your kinsman, though, was he not?"

_How would I have treated a bastard half-uncle in my garrison?_ "It mattered naught to him. Theft was theft." He paused. "Have you any news of home?"

“The most recent thing I heard was that Robert had been killed by Prince Rhaegar at the Trident. I am glad that my old friend could succeed where I failed.” He paused. "Many stormlords were among the dead. I am sorry to tell you your father and trueborn brothers were among them."

Stannis let this sink in. It should not have been a surprise, to hear that Grandfather and his uncles were all dead. "I suppose little Alyn is lord now."

Connington shrugged. "The king is attempting to root out bad blood. He may choose to award Greenstone to someone else." He grinned. "If you were no friend of Robert's, you could make the case for yourself."

_If he only knew what seat I would claim._ “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. I have history with one of the lords who took the castle, and my head would be on a spike forthwith.”

Connington laughed. "I’ve heard something to that effect. Twins, was it? At the same time?”

Stannis started. Had he told the story to someone in the Golden Company? He must have. Connington was no friend of Robert's; he could not have heard the tale from him. "Yes," he said, keeping his gaze fixed down. He did not feel like a man who could have twins at the same time. He cursed himself for that embellishment. 

"I can see how that would send a man into exile. It's a more interesting story than mine. I simply failed to kill that nephew of yours." He looked bitter.

_He may be no friend of Robert's, but he is also no friend to the Targaryens._ "Do you think you would be welcome home now that it is over?"

Connington shrugged. "No more than you would, I imagine. King Aerys does not forgive. Look at the pair of us." He pushed himself to his feet. "It seems we will be here for the night. Come, Lyonel Storm. Have a drink with me and let me hear a stormlands accent again for once." 

He could not refuse. And besides, perhaps it would be good to have a friend. Stannis had kept to himself around the other men of the company. He rose, stretching, and shouldered his pack. He would have to get his muscles used to this life. It would be his for the foreseeable future. He tried to figure out who was to blame for his being cursed to a sellsword's life. 

_Robert and no other._

The tavern overlooked the mighty Rhoyne. At least Stannis could console himself with the fact that he would get to see things he had never otherwise dreamt of seeing. It was a small comfort, though. _I am not meant to be a wandering adventurer. I am meant to be a lord._

The tavern was small and doing booming business due to the arrival of the Golden Company. It seemed not to matter to the townspeople who held it, as long as the men had gold aplenty. 

It was crowded and Stannis had to squeeze through the press of men to get a table. Connington had offered to buy the first round and he made his way to the table, grinning, holding aloft two tankards of ale. 

"A good thing I offered to take the first round. These were on the house. In gratitude for our valor."

Stannis pulled one tankard toward himself. "No doubt he would have said the same thing to the other side had they won."

"Probably." Connington took a generous swig and leaned forward on his elbows. "So you truly have no interest in claiming Greenstone?"

Stannis shrugged. "I am a bastard. It is not for me. Surely the king will wish to reward someone who actively supported his cause." 

"I'm sure if I asked the favor, Prince Rhaegar would support your claim. King Aerys might legitimize you." 

Stannis took a sip of ale. "And how would you ask him?"

"It has crossed my mind to see if I might be welcome. Were I to make the attempt, I would not want to make it alone." 

"My… half-brothers… may be dead, but surely some branch of the family would object." 

"Suit yourself." Connington leaned back in his chair. "You're an odd man. Drink. It won't kill you."

_So Robert has told me countless times._ Stannis took a generous swig. "Why should a lord such as yourself bother with one such as me?" 

Half of Connington's ale vanished in one gulp. "An exiled lord might as well be a bastard."

Stannis contemplated his drink. What was an exiled lord pretending to be a bastard?

"I can't believe I heard nothing of you before," Connington went on. "I heard not a rumor of the Lord of Greenstone fathering a bastard."

"He was surely not proud of me. I am bad luck."

Connington laughed. "You believe that?"

Stannis' eyebrows rose. "Storm's End fell for the first time with me in it, did it not?" 

"Then I suppose we had better watch our backs." Connington drained his cup.

Stannis tried to make himself relax and did the same. _He does not know who I am. How can he? How would he expect me here?_ He got up to get the second round. 

On his way back, a drunk man, one of his companions in arms, ran into him. Ale sloshed all over Stannis and he lost the tenuous grip his right hand had on one of tankards. 

"Watch where you're going," the man said. He could barely fix both of his eyes in the same direction. Stannis was reminded of Robert and his carelessness. 

"I think it should be _you_ who does that," he said through gritted teeth. He did not enjoy having the only set of clothes he owned thoroughly drenched. He had just recently had them cleaned while he was at the bathhouse, and now they were sticky with ale. Not to mention his armor, which was sure to rust.

The man seized the front of Stannis' tunic. "I don't like your look."

"What has my look to do—" Stannis began, but he couldn't finish his sentence before the man put a fist to his jaw. This was an injustice too far. Stannis swung the tankard he still held in his left hand and it connected with the side of the man's head. 

Before he could react, someone jumped on him from behind. "No bastard treats my brother like that. We're trueborn sons of House Peake." 

Stannis had to suppress his fury enough not to divulge his true identity. _No Blackfyre supporter treats_ me _like that. I am the Lord of Storm's End._ He felt his knees buckle under the weight of the man on his back, who had seized a handful of hair and snapped his head back.

The skirmish seemed to have lit a fire in the tavern full of sellswords flush with victory. Stannis managed to shake off his assailant, only to find that there were two more right behind him. There must have been three brothers in all.

Someone swung a chair, knocking one of the three down. The other two turned to their new opponent. It was Connington. 

"Now," he said, "is that any way to treat our new comrade in arms?" 

The response of one of the trueborn sons of House Peake was to jump on Connington. 

From that point, things dissolved into a chaotic, swirling mass of confusion. Stannis was almost certain that at one point he saw two Peakes hit each other. Stannis ducked a punch from someone who was not a Peake and spun, tankard still in hand. 

Connington came to his rescue again, cracking two heads together. "Come on, Lyonel Storm," he said, almost cheerfully. "This is no place for men like us." He seized Stannis' elbow and maneuvered him through the crowd until they were outside, blinking in the humid night.

"You might hold onto that," Connington said, gesturing to the tankard Stannis still gripped in his left hand. "It might be better use to you than your sword next battle."

Despite himself, Stannis smiled at the image of himself meeting a Dothraki screamer with a tankard in hand. "If only Robert could see me now!"

"Robert?"

Stannis swore under his breath. "He never liked me," he said, tossing the tankard away. 

"I would have thought by your exploits you would have been fast friends."

“I am not much of a drinker, and he, as you know, was. When I declined his invitations to go out and tear up a tavern, he often insulted me.” Stannis shrugged. "Who can know what goes on in another man's mind?"

"True." Connington began to walk and Stannis followed, the noise and light of the tavern fading in the distance behind them. "Well, if he misliked you, I can say my opinion of him is confirmed."

"It is?" Stannis felt a funny surge of hope. He had never met anyone who liked him better than Robert, much less someone who didn't like Robert at all.

"He was a fool," Connington said darkly. "He was playing in matters that didn't concern him."

Stannis was always happy to hear someone discuss Robert's foolishness. "I only did my duty, and here I am suffering for it." 

Connington thumped him on the shoulder. "You fight well for a man missing fingers. That was a great deal of fun.”

Stannis lifted his right hand. "It took some time to become accustomed to it, but I would say I have been fairly successful." He touched the pommel of his sword. "Managing this was the most difficult part."

"You seem to have lived thus far."

"Only just." Stannis remembered his first battle and how close he'd come to dying. That experience had cemented to him how he paled in comparison to Robert as a warrior—and how much he wanted to stay alive. "Can you fight left-handed?"

"I have never had the misfortune of having to attempt it."

"My right hand being rendered useless did not make my left hand any more cooperative. I have had to learn to fight all over again like a green lad."

"Do you have a sparring partner?"

"No."

Connington stretched casually. "We have some days yet before we march. I am no master-of-arms, but I'm sure we could practice."

Stannis had never been one for sparring, particularly when Robert tried to bully him into joining him in the yard so he could trounce him soundly. But it would be foolish to turn down the offer if Connington could help him improve. "All right."

The next morning, Stannis and Connington met early in an open space near where they were camped. 

Connington drew his sword. "All right. Let's see what a short-handed bastard can do."

Stannis drew his sword smoothly with his left hand and fell into a sparring stance. Connington moved on him first and Stannis moved expertly to block and parry. There was little time in the heat of battle to care for form, but now that he was not worried about staying alive, Stannis had time to appreciate how strong his left arm had become. 

"You undersell yourself, Storm," Connington said, as he made Stannis dance back to avoid his swing. "I confess myself impressed. I daresay you've done more than just survive."

Stannis did not let the words distract him, but he relished the swell of pride at the praise. He could not remember the last time anyone had called him a good swordsman. It had never been anything he'd desired, but the compliment still felt good.

They practiced for most of the morning and then, again, took a rest beside the well. How had Stannis never before noticed the simple pleasure of a drink of cool water? 

"Well," Connington said, "perhaps it is I who have something to learn from you."

Stannis had to suppress his smile. "We must watch each other's backs."

Connington slapped Stannis' back. "Indeed." 

Stannis smiled back at him, feeling better about the life he'd been forced into than he had thus far.


	10. Renly IV

Renly looked around, making sure no one was watching. Once he was sure no one was around, he slipped from outbuilding to outbuilding until he came to the shade of the godswood.

He paused a moment before ducking between the thick, gnarled trees. It was chilly here and he almost wished for a heavier cloak, but he didn't dare go back in the castle, lest he be put to some other task. 

Stannis had told him that in the North their gods were here, not in the sept. Gods or no, it was a good place to hide. He moved quickly through the fallen leaves until he came to his clearing. His stick was still there, where he'd hidden it in a hollow tree. 

He hefted the stick and took up the first pose Ser Alliser had taught them. He was determined to be a knight. He would obey Maester Cressen. He would obey Ser Alliser. He would not put a toe out of line. Every morning, Renly practiced with Viserys and Ser Alliser and whenever he could get away in the afternoon, he came here.

He had to be ready. When Stannis came back, he would have to fight a whole castle full of enemies. Then, he would be Lord of Storm's End and Renly would be his squire. It helped keep his mind off how his arms ached, when he pictured how impressed Stannis would be with his swordsmanship.

They were doing more than just holding the sword now and Renly practiced moving slowly through the motions with his stick. Thrust. Parry. Block. He did it over and over again until his shoulders ached, but he knew he must get used to it. No matter how much he ate, he was still skinny. He would need to be stronger if he was going to carry Stannis' sword for him, or wield his own one day.

"Renly!"

Viserys' voice rang out among the trees and Renly hurled his stick away. He spun, hands behind his back, trying to look innocent.

Viserys stood at the edge of Renly's clearing, looking at him curiously. "What are you doing here?" He looked about at the tall trees suspiciously as he approached Renly. "At the Red Keep, the heart tree is a pretty tree. This one is ugly."

"I like it," said Renly loyally, though he had never cared for the godswood before.

"Never mind." Viserys grabbed Renly's hand forcefully. "There is something I want to show you."

"Where's Ser Alliser?" It was only now that Renly realized he wasn't there, and he felt momentary relief not to be scrutinized by the cold, dark eyes.

"Indisposed," Viserys said casually. "Ser Bertram was with me, but he is easy to get away from. No doubt they will be looking for me shortly, but I would like some time to myself, I think. It is tiresome to have a Kingsguard with you _all_ the time."

Renly knew this was unwise, but he could only nod. One didn't argue with a prince.

Viserys led them across the yard into the kitchens. Renly hadn't been in them since the siege was lifted; they were crowded with servants and lots of good smells. He breathed deep—there was bread and roast duck and fish, and all sorts of wonderful things he barely remembered eating. Viserys did not stop to savor the smells; he was looking for something specific.

"There," he said. "Renly, do you like lemon cakes?"

It had been so long since he'd had one. "Maybe." Anything sweet sounded good; now that they could eat as much as they liked, Renly had discovered he liked sweets best.

"Then we will find out." When the scullery maid's back was turned, Viserys seized the plate of cakes off the table and hurried for the door. Renly gaped in horror, before he forced himself to follow. 

"You have to put that back!" he cried. "You can't take it!" He hurried to catch up with Viserys, who had taken refuge behind the stables. "You mustn't steal food!" 

"I am a prince. I can take whatever I want." Viserys shoved a cake into his mouth and offered the plate to Renly. "But I'll share with you because you're my friend," he added, spraying crumbs.

Renly hesitated. He knew the penalty for stealing food. He had been there beside Stannis when he had told the garrison that any man caught doing so would face death. He didn't think that was the case now, but you could never be too sure. And besides, it was _wrong_.

"Take one," Viserys demanded.

Renly did, reluctantly. The soft cake tasted like sawdust in his mouth and he could barely choke it down. In the time it took for Renly to finish one cake, Viserys had eaten six. "I think next time I would like some honey cakes," he said thoughtfully. "Lemon cakes are very sour."

Renly's stomach roiled.

"My prince!" Ser Alliser was stalking toward them. "Where have you been?"

Renly's heart sank. He had been hoping for an afternoon of play without the Kingsguard.

Viserys chewed and swallowed. "Playing with Renly."

"You must stay with your guard, my prince," Ser Alliser said sternly. "I will see to it that Ser Bertram does not make the same mistake again, but you do not know when you might be in danger from assassins and traitors." The sharp eyes fell on Renly. He frowned as though Renly might be responsible for anything bad that might have befallen Viserys. "And what is all this?" He looked at the mostly-empty plate in Viserys' hands. 

"A snack before supper," Viserys answered sweetly.

Ser Alliser's gaze snapped to Renly. 

Renly stared right back, chin held high. He was a proud stag and had done nothing wrong. _Viserys ordered me to take a lemon cake. I couldn’t disobey the prince.  
_  
"We will see what Ser Cyrian has to say about this." He seized Renly's arm, twisting it over his head as he marched him toward the castle. It was a long climb up to Ser Cyrian's solar, which Renly still thought of as Stannis'. 

When Ser Alliser threw the door open, Ser Cyrian looked up from his desk in surprise. He had been writing a letter. 

"Ser Alliser," he said, standing. "What is the matter?"

"This one." Ser Alliser released Renly. He rubbed his shoulder and scowled back at Ser Alliser. "Was stealing lemon cakes from the kitchens." 

Renly almost couldn't see for his rage. Ser Alliser didn't know he'd seen the starving men who had stood on the walls, even through the rain and the wind, with nothing to eat. He thought about Stannis, shivering even though it wasn't cold, as he made sure Renly ate every bite of the rat that had been caught for their dinner. It had been the skinniest rat Renly had ever seen. Stannis had taken the tail for himself. How could anyone think Renly would steal food after all that?

"Is this true, Renly?" Ser Cyrian was looking at him with a very disappointed expression. He wasn't angry and Renly could not hate him for a traitor, not when it seemed he expected better of Renly. 

Renly looked down at his feet. "Yes, ser," he said quietly. "We both did." Hot guilt was crawling down his neck. He forced himself to look into Ser Cyrian's blue eyes. "But I ate just one." _He ate seven_ , he willed for him to know. 

Ser Cyrian stroked his mustache. "I see. That is too bad. I am afraid you will have to be punished."

Beside him, Viserys stiffened, but Ser Cyrian wasn't done.

"I cannot lay a hand on you, my prince. If your father or brother were here, they could, but I am not of your blood. But I will have to punish Renly in your stead."

"But Renly is my friend!"

At least that was heartening to hear. 

"If that is so, then you must think of that before you act." 

Ser Cyrian went to the corner where the birch switch hung. All through the siege, when there hadn't been anything to eat, Renly had been too tired to be anything but good, and even when he wasn't, Stannis had been too exhausted to bother with a switching. Now Ser Cyrian took it up.

Viserys watched all of this with what looked like real, open-mouthed guilt. Renly grit his teeth and endured it, two swats to the backs of his legs. It hurt, but he had known worse. 

"To bed with you," Ser Cyrian said. "No supper." 

Renly's stomach growled as he trudged to his room and crawled into bed. The switching was nothing, but being sent to bed without supper was a terrible thing. He buried his face in his pillow. He would not cry, though. 

At least Viserys seemed to see the unfairness of it. The next day, he came to Renly's room before breakfast and they went down together. 

"I think that was unfair of him," Viserys said, with unexpected loyalty. "When I am a man grown, we shall have all the cake we can eat." 

Renly supposed that was good enough for understanding. 

Viserys changed topics quickly. "Soon we will have more companions. Ser Cyrian has sent invitations to all the stormlords. Those with sons of our age will send them to play with us."

Renly knew those names, though it all seemed so long ago that he had pored over the books of heraldry in Stannis' solar. The green turtle of their Estermont kin, the suns and moons of House Tarth, he had loved them all. And all of those men had risen with Robert and now they were all kneelers, unless they were dead.

Then Renly remembered his cousin Alyn. They had met just once, when Renly, Stannis, and Robert had gone to the wedding of their cousin Orenna Peasebury, daughter of the younger sister of their lady mother. Renly had been only four, but he remembered the party, the music, and Robert dancing with their pretty cousin. And he remembered Alyn, a boy his age with laughing eyes. It would be fun to play with Alyn again.

After breakfast, they were in the training yard again. Renly felt stronger and he waited for Ser Alliser to say how well he was doing. They moved through their warm-ups, but still Ser Alliser did not seem to notice Renly's improved stance or stamina.

"Very good, my prince," he said to Viserys. "Your thrusts are sharp, as they should be."

Renly thought his thrusts were sharper, but he said nothing. 

Ser Alliser stopped in front of him. "Your sword still droops, Ser Fawn. You will never kill an enemy if you don't know what end to stick in him."

Renly scowled, but still he could not say anything. When he had steel in his hand, it wouldn't matter if the point drooped a little before he ran Lord Tarly through. Perhaps he would slay Ser Alliser as well, just to show him that good, sharp steel was worth more than any fighting form. He named each thrust. _Randyll Tarly. Mace Tyrell. Ser Alliser. King Aerys. Prince Rhaegar._

"Now," Ser Alliser said, once they were finished with their exercises, "Ser Bertram and I will demonstrate proper dueling technique." 

Ser Bertram was tall and skinny, with a pockmarked face. He was a couple of years older than Robert. Renly remembered that it had been Ser Bertram who had had watch of Viserys on the day they had stolen the lemon cakes. He held his wooden practice sword like he hadn't laid eyes on one since he was Renly's age. Ser Alliser held his much more easily, like it was real steel.

Ser Bertram took up a defensive position and had barely gotten into it before Ser Alliser was on him. The wood flashed--left, then right, then left again, as Ser Bertram tried feebly to block Ser Alliser's thrusts. 

"These swords have been made from ironwood, the toughest wood there is. They are heavier than normal for training purposes. As you will see," Ser Alliser said, without slowing, "you may win by tiring your opponent." The loud clack of wood on wood echoed off the curtain walls surrounding the yard. "Eventually, he will no longer be able to block you." He continued his assault without pause. Ser Bertram began moving backward. His arms were clearly getting tired.

 _I know how he feels_ , thought Renly.

"As you can see, you can easily wear your opponent out with clever combat. If you are quicker than him, stronger than him…" With his next thrust, he sent the wooden sword spinning from Ser Bertram's hand. Ser Bertram appeared not to know what to do without it. Ser Alliser glared at him. “Remind me why I chose you for the Prince’s Guard.”

Beside him, Renly could see Viserys suppress a laugh.

"I will school you in no other weapon. The sword is the knight's best tool. You will meet other men who call themselves knights who use other weapons. You may use a lance to ride in tourneys if you wish to demonstrate your skill at horsemanship. But I will not see you use it on the field of battle if I am in any position to stop you. The morningstar is inefficient and unwieldy, just as dangerous to its wielder as an enemy." He paused. "And the warhammer is naught but a great meat tenderizer."

Renly bit back anything he wanted to say. He would get in even worse trouble for mentioning Robert. 

"If your opponent wields such a weapon, you can easily cut him down as he is swinging the thing over his head." 

Renly's jaw locked and his grip tightened on the hilt of his wooden sword. That was what Viserys' brother had done. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and blew it out. It would still be there, his fury, when he was older. 

_Randyll Tarly. Mace Tyrell. Ser Alliser. King Aerys. Prince Rhaegar._

When he came for the last three, it would be with his warhammer.


	11. Stannis V

Volantis was hotter even than Tyrosh. _My father was here before he died on the mad king's errand_ , Stannis thought, as he marched through the city with the Golden Company. He had seen slaves with tattoos that reminded him of Patchface. _To think that I should be homesick for even a mad fool._

The Company had come to Volantis to claim their pay for the towns they had taken along the Rhoyne. Stannis was unsure of the value of the holdings; for the most part, they seemed to be deserted villages, devastated by Dothraki raidings. 

"A sellsword doesn't question a man who wants to pay him," Jon Connington had told him when he'd wondered just that out loud. "Learn that, Lyonel Storm, and you'll be a rich man."

Stannis couldn't imagine being a rich man in this fashion. He was little more than a turncloak now, compelled to change sides at the bidding of his masters. 

But that didn't stop him from thinking of what he would buy with his earnings. He needed a bath, more clothes, a barber. Perhaps he would have a shield painted in reversed Estermont colors. It would bolster his story and be something like a reminder of home.

"Drinks!" Jon proclaimed, flinging an arm around Stannis' shoulders as soon as they left the paymaster. Stannis was still savoring the weight of the bag of gold in his hands. "We have too much coin not to begin to spend it."

Stannis disagreed but stayed silent. He did not wish to alienate this man who had become his only friend in the world. 

They walked the streets of Volantis together, slipping easily into the throngs of people. It felt good to have a companion who genuinely seemed to like him. He had never experienced that; the only people who genuinely enjoyed his company were Maester Cressen and Renly.

They passed through a marketplace. Voices were shouting exhortations to buy their wares or follow their gods.

One particular woman on a street corner caught Stannis’ attention. She was dressed in a red silk gown and her long, copper-colored hair shone in the sunlight. Despite standing in the midday sun. her skin was pale and unblemished. She had a magnificent choker made of red gold at her neck, with a large shimmering ruby. Stannis found he couldn't take his eyes off it, despite himself.

“And the chosen one of the god R’hllor will charge forth to defeat the Great Other, the one who takes the souls, the one who would invade the world of the living. The enemy must be stopped, so the hero comes again. R'hllor has blessed this soul, for he is reborn when the world is in peril. Azor Ahai shall come again, and we must all make ready to serve him!”

"Thinking of converting?"

Stannis blinked, startled by Jon's voice. He had been staring. He didn't know why. "No," he said. "It sounds ridiculous." 

The priestess turned to where Stannis and Jon stood. "I know you," she said.

Stannis felt the blood drain from his face. How could she know him? He had never seen her before in his life. Was she about to tell Jon who he was? "You cannot know me," he told her, trying not to betray the internal panic he felt. "You are a stranger to me."

"But _you_ are no stranger to _me_ ," she said. She was coming toward him. "I saw in my fires that I had to go out into the city today. I knew not why, but it seems the reason is clear now. Today is the day I would meet Azor Ahai reborn."

Stannis did not mean for his snort to sound so incredulous, but it did. "That is what you were just talking about?" 

Jon nudged him. "Sounds like she was waiting for you, Lyonel."

"Ridiculous. It must be some kind of trick." He did not like the way she was looking at him. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck when he looked at the ruby at her throat. _If she knows me, why does she not give me away?_

"Lyonel," she said, as if savoring the name. 

Jon clapped him on the back. "Lyonel Storm."

"Lyonel Storm," the priestess repeated. Stannis could tell she knew this wasn't his name. He wasn't sure _how_ he knew, but he knew. It made him intensely uncomfortable. 

"Yes," he said, tone clipped. "That is my name, as my friend so blatantly gave you. You cannot pretend you have divined that." 

She smiled. "You think I use fortuneteller's tricks?" 

"Naturally. If I were not Azor Ahai, it might have been Jon here. Do you know him now?" 

She studied Jon. "No, he I do not know. He is not Azor Ahai reborn. He was not born from salt and smoke to wake dragons out of stone." 

"I see." Stannis turned. "Come, Jon. We must be off so that she may know the next Azor Ahai. I feel he is coming up the road just now."

"Down that way lies danger!" she called after them. 

"Oh, I'm sure!" Jon called back to her. "We're going to the biggest tavern in the city."

The Merchant's House was the largest inn Stannis had ever seen. The common room was complete chaos and Stannis kept his bag of gold closely guarded as he and Jon forced their way up to the bar. 

"Try not to brain anyone with this one," Jon said, as he handed Stannis a tankard. It was full of sweet red wine and, despite himself, Stannis drank it down quickly. After two rounds, he found himself wrapped in a pleasant, sleepy warmth. Jon made for good company, filling Stannis' silence.

He had never quite had friends before. It was a good feelling.

"Where should we go next?" Jon said, as they stepped out of the inn. The raucous light and sound faded into black as they walked through the dark, silent streets. "Are these dockside whores to your taste, or should we go farther inland?" 

Stannis wondered why it was to be taken for granted that he wanted a whore. 

"I think we will find something on the Long Bridge that should suit us." Jon steered Stannis through the throng in Fishmonger's Square. 

Stannis was gripped by a sudden fear. Would he be expected to live up to all those tales he'd stolen from Robert? What was the protocol in a brothel? Would he be laughed at? 

"If women are not to your taste, there will surely be other options."

This prospect only made Stannis' face grow hotter. Hopefully it was too dark for Jon to see. He tried to come up with some excuse but none came to mind. He wished for something, anything that would cease their progress.

Jon stopped. "Lyonel."

Stannis did, too. "Yes?"

"What possessed you to choose that name?"

The hairs on the back of his neck rose. "I did not choose it. My mother did."

"And what sort of whore was she again?"

Stannis spun. "She was no whore! She was a… washerwoman at Greenstone." 

"A poor choice." Jon's sword slid from its scabbard. "Too close, and yet, too far. You might have been some tavern whore's son who never knew his father. Then, men might have knowingly guessed him for Steffon Baratheon, but you would not dishonor him, would you?"

Stannis' stomach dropped. "I know not what you mean," he said gruffly. "My father was Eldon Estermont. My mother was--" 

Jon's sword was pointed at his throat. "I knew your father. I knew your mother. I know _you_ , Stannis Baratheon. And your head will take me home."

Stannis' right hand went to his side before he remembered his sword was now on his other side. He barely had time to dodge Jon's thrust. "You are mad!" he cried out. "You cannot think I am Stannis Baratheon! My name is Lyonel Storm!"

"Do you take me for a fool?" The face he had thought to call friend was twisted in rage. Stannis finally managed to get his sword out, but Jon was unrelenting. It seemed that he had been holding back during their frequent sparring sessions. The clash of steel shattered the silence of the empty streets. Every house had its shutters drawn, its inhabitants asleep.

_He has brought me here to kill me._

Stannis fought until he found himself pressed against a wall. The next swing got his mail-covered shoulder. Stannis threw himself to the side, not caring where he was going, only wanting to get away. He ran as fast as he could, sword swinging uselessly in his left hand.

"Come back and die, Baratheon!" Jon's voice echoed into the humid night. 

Stannis did not know if he was being pursued, but he did not stop to look. He ran down one street and up an alley. It ended in a fence and Stannis had to scramble over it, tearing his breeches in the process. 

He had just dropped to the ground on the other side when he heard footsteps racing up the alley. "You can't hide, Baratheon!" 

Stannis tore out of the alley, taking a hard left up the next street. He slammed smack into another body and jerked back, panicked that it was Connington.

It was a short, stout man with a gold ring in one ear. "You in trouble, friend?" He spoke the bastardized form of High Valyrian that was common throughout the Free Cities. Stannis could understand it, but could only respond in the form he had learned as a boy in Maester Cressen's study.

"I am pursued," he said, knowing the words would sound odd and stiff. 

"Come, come." The man put a hand on your shoulder. "You can hide with me, friend. I see you have met my same fate." He held up his hand. Like Stannis, he was missing his right fingers.

 _He is a thief_ , Stannis realized, but then he heard a scraping sound as Connington swung himself over the fence in the alley. Stannis sheathed his sword. "I place myself in your care."

The man pushed him through a door and into a dark house. They crouched in front of the window and watched as Connington raced up the street. Stannis waited until he was out of sight, and then waited several more minutes, in the hopes that Connington would not retrace his steps. 

Finally, he turned to his companion. "I thank you," he said. "That man will kill me without your help." He was not sure he had the right tense, but he hoped the meaning was clear.

"No problem," said the man. A dagger flashed in the moonlight. "You can pay, I'm sure."

Before he could reach the door, two others who had been hiding in the shadows seized Stannis' arms and pinned them behind his back. 

"Very nice, very nice." His supposed rescuer looked him over. "Sword, armor, purse." He found himself forced to the floor. Someone unbuckled his sword belt and someone pulled his chain mail off over his head. _It serves you right_ , Stannis thought. _It is rusted with ale._ He tried to kick one of his assailants, but the man only caught his foot and wrenched first one boot off, then the other. 

_I should have stayed and fought Connington._

Soon, he found himself shoved back out the door. It slammed behind him.

Stannis turned and began pounding on it. "Give me back what is mine!" he snapped, in the common tongue of Westeros. He was too angry to remember any High Valyrian. "Thieves! You will rue the day you stole from the Lord of Storm's End!" 

There was no response from inside. Stannis stepped back. His now-bare foot landed in something he would have preferred not to identify. He had naught to his name now but breeches and shirt. 

Reluctantly, he stepped back from the house. Briefly, he debated finding some person in authority, some sort of City Watch, to report his misfortunes, but that would require drawing attention to himself. Connington might find him. 

He limped up the street, unsure of what to do with himself. The night was already beginning to lift with the coming dawn, but Stannis had no place to go. He certainly could not go back to Golden Company.

For some reason, his feet carried him to the docks. A ship was the surest way to safety. The most important thing was to get away from Volantis, away from Connington. To do that, he would need employment, or coin. What could he do? 

He could not hire himself to anyone as a guard without a sword, and he would not be taken seriously as a scribe or clerk without shoes. He wished for home, a warm fire, Maester Cressen's company, his books, even Renly's incessant questions. 

The city was starting to wake around him, but no one paid any mind to Stannis shuffling along down the street. A shopkeeper tossed a bucket of water out onto her front stoop and the water washed over Stannis' feet. At least whatever he had stepped in was cleaned off.

The docks were like the docks in any other city. Stannis wandered along them, looking for some familiar patch of color, a familiar word, anything to indicate a Westerosi ship. 

"It's Lyonel!" a voice shouted. 

Stannis froze. It was a child's voice. What child knew him by that name?

"Lyonel! Lyonel!"

He looked down. Two children stood in front of him. A moment passed before he recognized them as Davos' two younger sons. 

_What are they doing here?_ he wondered. _Why would Davos let them come to a strange city alone?_

"Matthos! Maric!" a panicked voice cut through the crowd and a small man pushed past him. "You mustn't wander off like that! You had me worried. If anything happened to you…" 

"We found Lyonel," said one of them matter-of-factly, pointing up at Stannis. Stannis had never bothered to learn which was Matthos and which was Maric.

Davos turned. He had not noticed Stannis. He stared for a moment in uncomprehending silence before Stannis saw his brown eyes light up with recognition. "My l-Lyonel!" He stared for several more seconds. Stannis could not imagine what he must have looked liked, but it must be terribly shocking to have rendered the smuggler speechless.

Stannis cleared his throat. He did not know what to say. 

“You’ve come a long way from Tyrosh,” Davos said. Stannis could only nod at the very obvious statement. “Did you find the Golden Company? Were you able to join them?”

Stannis looked down at the remnants of his clothes. The breeches were torn in three places. The shirt had dire need of a needle and thread. His bare feet were pale and, after his walk through the city, filthy.

“Yes. Yes, I joined,” Stannis said, slowly finding his voice. “It did not work out as well as I might have hoped for.”

Davos took a moment to process that comment and burst out laughing. “Lyonel, my friend, I do believe you understate the case. Come aboard. We have just made port an hour ago. The men are taking on fresh supplies. They will be delighted to see you again.”

Stannis was not used to being laughed at by anyone but Robert. Had he said something funny? _I thought Davos was my friend. He must be, for it hurts that he laughs at me. Yet I truly have nowhere else to go._

Davos put his hand to Stannis' elbow, guiding him toward the gangplank. Matthos and Maric swarmed about their legs, peppering Stannis with questions, none of which he heard.

He cast his eyes skyward, wondering if this might be what the faithful called a miracle, or an Act of the Seven. _In my most desperate hours, this man Davos has been my salvation. Seven, if you are real, thank you for putting him in my path._


	12. Davos III

Davos managed to bring Stannis aboard, and he now stood on deck, swaying precariously as though drunk. _He spoke the truth about getting little sleep_ , Davos realized. The last thing he needed was an unconscious lordling on his deck, but Stannis did not seem to know where to go.

"Come, Lyonel," he said briskly. He still felt uncomfortable using the name, but Stannis had insisted on it. _If I am the only one who knows him for a lord, perhaps birth truly matters naught. He certainly does not look it now._ Stannis' clothes had seen better days, though he had perhaps not owned them then. His hair hung in his eyes and he made no move to brush it out. "You need food and a bed. Which will you have first?"

Stannis closed his eyes for a moment before deciding. "Bed. I ate not too many hours ago, but I have been up since dawn yesterday."

"Then come." Davos took him by the hand, for he didn't seem to be about to shift himself, and led him toward the hatch, waiting patiently as Stannis climbed down the ladder into the darkness belowdecks.

"Your cabin is still unoccupied," Davos said. "We took on a passenger at Pentos, a Braavosi, but he has left us. "The berth is yours for however long you should need it." 

Davos opened the door, and Stannis crossed the room in two strides, rolling onto the bunk without a word. As soon as his body was flat, he moved no more. Davos hesitated a moment before taking his leave. The young man looked almost dead, but his thin chest was rising and falling, so Davos shut the door and left him to his slumber.

When he again woke, he would need something to wear. His clothes could be mended, but until then, he would need something. He found Byren in the kitchen, up to his elbows in flour. The old sailor had once scaled rigging as easily as a monkey from the Summer Isles, but the creaks in his knees now kept him grounded. Still, Davos had never known a better cook.

"An old friend has returned to us," he said, as Byren looked up with a smile. "Ser Lyonel Storm."

Byren grinned and resumed kneading. "How many was he caught with this time? Three at once now?"

Davos was taken aback before he remembered the tale Stannis had told the men. He did not seem the type for tale-telling, much less for getting into the sort of trouble Ser Lyonel Storm claimed to have done—it had to be some imagining. "He has fallen into some trouble , it appears," Davos said, deciding to let Stannis be the one to tell of his misfortune. "He will need clean clothes. Have you something to spare from your stores?"

Byren moved to the tub in the corner of the kitchen where extra clothes were piled, waiting for new owners. "That Braavosi was tall; he might've left some things behind." He dug through the pile before extracting an armful. "Try him with this. Might not fit as good as what we gave him before but he should've thought of that before he lost his clothes. What did he do, leave them behind in the lady's chamber?"

Davos wondered how long Stannis would be able to keep the story of Lyonel Storm going. "He did not say."

Byren beamed good-naturedly. "The tales will be something to hear, I'm sure."

Davos wondered about this as he carried the clothes back to Stannis' room. It didn't look like what had happened to Stannis would be fodder for drinking stories. _It is fortuitous he should have found us._ When he entered the small cabin, Stannis was still fast asleep. Davos had never seen anyone look less relaxed when supposedly at rest. His brows were knit like was concentrating on some monumental task. Every so often, his thin mouth gave an annoyed twitch. _He must be dreaming of something unpleasant._  
  
Not even twenty and he had been through so much. He wasn't unhandsome, Davos noted. His hair was thick, and while his heavy jaw did his face no favors, when he looked past that, Davos could see his high cheekbones. He could remember the intense blue of his eyes, too, like the sea and just as deep.

He noticed himself staring and laid the clothes on the bedside table.

Stannis slept until late afternoon when he appeared in Davos' cabin. He was dressed in the left-behind clothes: homespun brown breeches and a plain shirt too short in the arms.

"I apologize," he said with unnecessary formality. "I again place myself in your debt." He pushed the hair out of his eyes. "You may put me off at the first opportunity. I cannot rejoin Golden Company but I would be content with the Stormcrows or the Windblown if I must be. I do not know where you are going, but surely there will be sellswords there and I can…" He paused, the weight seeming to set in. "Perhaps first I ought to ask where you are bound."

"Slaver's Bay."

Stannis' eyebrows rose. "That is a long way from Westeros."

"Aye, it is indeed. It was a lucrative contract, and I thought it might be… wise to put some distance between me and those who seek me out as the man who helped Stannis Baratheon."

Stannis Baratheon paled. "I—"

Davos held up a hand to silence him. _If he continues like this, we will be here hours._ "You are more than welcome to join us. The men enjoy your company and there is always work to do." _And you are a man without friends, home, or position. It must be a lonely life indeed. At least you have a place here._  
  
Stannis' jaw tightened. "It is not I the men enjoy, but Lyonel Storm. And I am afraid I can be of little use." He held up his right hand so Davos could see the stumps of fingers he was left with. "I fear I will just be a mouth to feed."

Davos did not blink. "We will find you a place. I do not turn men away."

Stannis lowered his hand and put it behind as back. He stood ramrod straight, a sharp contrast to the rest of his appearance. "I thought it was every man for himself with your sort."

Davos couldn't help but smile. "And what sort is my sort?"

"Pirates. Smugglers. Rogues."

Davos laughed. "Some of the rogues despair of me, I would imagine. I know Salladhor Saan does."

A glimmer of recognition flared in Stannis' dark blue eyes. _Like the sea night_ , he decided, _as seen from the crow's nest when my eyes grow heavy._ "Perhaps he had the right of it. Having me on board is a liability, to you, your crew, your children. Stannis Baratheon is wanted in Westeros, Lyonel Storm is wanted by Golden Company…"

Davos smiled. The young man was earnest, perhaps to a fault. It was not the sort of selflessness Davos would have expected from a lord, though he had to admit he'd never met one before Stannis. He remembered that first meeting, Stannis reluctant to treat with criminals, even to keep his own brother from starving. There was an honor to that he could almost admire, though it was a stubborn honor. 

"It is a chance I take gladly. After all, what is smuggling but a series of chances? I sailed past the Redwyne blockade."

Stannis sniffed. "Foolhardiness."

Davos leaned back in his chair. "Aye, and it saved you, did it not?"

"It did." There was a slight slack in the broad shoulders. "I cannot thank you enough. Would that I had not ended up here so that I could have rewarded you."

"Being of help is its own reward."

Stannis' mouth resumed its downturned position. This was a man who hated not to have his ledger balanced, it seemed. _He has yet to learn that they always do in the end. The gods make sure of that._

"I will find some use to make myself," Stannis said finally. "That will be my repayment."

The next morning, Stannis appeared on deck bright and early. Davos was still eating his breakfast, while Stannis trailed him like a shadow.

"Let's see," Davos said, licking bacon grease from his fingers. "What would you like to do?"

"Anything," Stannis said firmly. "I am not sure I could manage the rigging, but you may do anything you wish with me."

Davos ignored the second meaning he perceived there, for Stannis had surely not intended it. "Perhaps you could help Byren with the cooking."

"Lyonel! Good to see you back!" Byren gave him a floury thump on the back when they entered his domain. "Heard you got in a spot of trouble."

Stannis' expression tightened. "I was accosted by thieves. They stole everything I had on my person, including my boots." He still looked like he half didn't believe it, as though all of these misfortunes had befallen someone else.

Byren nodded. "Sorry to hear that. You're among friends here. If you would like to help me, I'd certainly appreciate it."

Stannis straightened up, like a soldier waiting for orders. "Just tell me what to do."

Davos left him kneading dough, the determination on his face bringing to mind a master craftsman more than a young lord who had probably barely even stepped into a kitchen before today.

He was able to set Stannis from his mind then, as he made his rounds of the ship.

Dale fell into step beside him. Davos smiled. He liked to see his eldest taking an interest in sailing. There was much he could not give him, but he could give him an education on how to captain a ship.

"Your brothers?" he asked.

Dale grinned. "Playing ship's cat. They're looking for rats."

Davos shook his head fondly. At least with all the crew, there was always someone to keep an eye on them.

"Is Lyonel really back?"

"Don't bother him," Davos said quickly. "He's had a hard time of it."

"I wasn't going to bother him. I was just going to ask him how he lost his fingers. I've never heard."

"You won't do that either," Davos said sternly. "Only know—" He paused, wondering if he ought to keep up Stannis' story. "Only know that it is a fate you might meet one day if you are caught thieving."

"Is smuggling thieving, Father?" Dale's eyes were wide with concern. 

"You could be caught by a man who thinks so. Then it will be your fingers, your hand, or the Wall."

Dale was still young enough to be intrigued by any of these ghoulish possibilities, and he followed Davos without further questions.

When they went to the galley for lunch, they found Stannis setting the table, as bent on his task as anything.

"Good afternoon, Lyonel," he said. "How did baking go?"

Stannis set Davos' plate in front of him hard. "I was in the way."

"He was not," Byren insisted, bringing a serving platter over to the table. "He did as fine a job as a man who is a knight and not a baker can do."

Stannis muttered something under his breath which Davos didn't catch.

"Come sit down," he offered.

"Yes," Byren said, "you've earned the rest. Get some meat on your bones. Looks like they fed you more in Golden Company than they did at Storm's End, but not by much. Have the afternoon off, too. Don't want to work you too hard."

"I mean to earn my keep," Stannis said firmly. "Just because I am—" He stopped, apparently remembering that Byren didn't know who he was. His eyes flicked to Davos, the annoyance plain. "Thank you." He sat and spooned stew into his bowl.

Davos was distracted by the younger children crawling onto the bench next to him, asking what was for lunch, so he only barely noticed Stannis quickly finish his meal and leave. After lunch, he went looking for him. He was not in his cabin. Davos was crossing the deck when he happened to look up to the crow's nest and see a familiar form.

Davos did not make a habit of climbing the rigging now that he was the captain, but it was the sort of thing a sailor never forgot. Stannis jumped when he dropped in behind him.

"If you do not notice me climbing up, how do you expect to notice any pirate ship bearing down on us?"

Stannis scowled. "My eyes were fixed to the horizon. This I _can_ do."

Davos put a hand on his shoulder. "A joke, Stannis. Forgive me." The name felt strange on his tongue, but he had been asked to use it.

Stannis seemed to relax, but not entirely. "No, forgive me. I am not used to…" He sighed. "Any of this. I thought my life had taken a turn for absurdity when the Tyrell siege engines moved in… more so when Robert died."

"I am sorry for the loss of your brother. I realize now that I never said anything."

Stannis waved his hand dismissively. "He is not worth that. It is his fault I am here. By the gods, I cannot even make a loaf of bread properly."

"You will find your place."

Stannis did not seem convinced. He turned his gaze back to the sea, the breeze sending his hair into his eyes. 

"Would you like me to take care of that for you?"

"Take care of what?"

Davos gestured to his hair. "I can cut it."

"Oh." Stannis looked up, as though noticing it for the first time. "I would appreciate that. Everything has gone wrong, hasn't it?"

Davos patted his shoulder. "Then we will have to make it go better, won't we?"

Davos did not tell Stannis this, but he appreciated the opportunity to be kept busy. He had Stannis find a seat on a crate on deck while he retrieved the scissors. 

"Have you done this before?" Stannis asked when he returned. 

"I do a fair job for the children and myself."

This was evidently acceptable, for Stannis sat up straight. "Short," he said.

Davos settled in to the monotonous work, appreciative to have a subject who didn't squirm as the children did. 

"Do you believe in the gods, Davos?" 

This startled him, causing him to nearly take Stannis' ear off. "My wife kept them well," he managed to answer. He returned to his work, giving each snip monumental concentration. "I try, but…" He flicked a severed lock of hair from Stannis' neck. "It is hard to answer the children's questions when I still have many myself. Perhaps the gods pay no mind to a lowly smuggler."

Stannis gave a heavy sigh. "Then I will say I am glad I'm not alone in my doubts." He paused. "There was a time not long ago when I would have said I had no use for them and been sure of it."

"Oh?" Perhaps it was because his eyes were fixed on the sea and not on Davos, but Stannis seemed to be more forthcoming in this moment and Davos found he wanted to encourage it. 

"I thought they paid no mind to me either. But now I wonder. First, you saved my garrison and me from starvation, and then you saved me from the Mad King's fires. Now you save me from a man who would have had my head. Why do you keep crossing my path if not for the gods?"

Davos felt an uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck. It was an unusual coincidence to be sure, very unusual. "But you are not a religious man. For my part, I know all I did was sail. After I left you at Tyrosh, I took on cargo and a passenger at Pentos. I came here because that was where the passenger was bound." 

"I have always been certain," Stannis went on. "I shocked my septon by declaring my disbelief at three-and-ten. I was absolutely sure of myself. Until yesterday."

Davos had moved round to the side of Stannis' head and could now see how far away his gaze was fixed. "It cannot be me," he said. "The gods must have some grander plan than I in mind for you. I am no one but a simple smuggler."

Stannis looked up at him suddenly, making Davos pull back with the scissors. He said nothing, but from the way his eyes bored into him, Davos had the unsettling sense he was looking right into his very heart.

"There, I think that should do," he said, wanting to break the tension as quickly as possible. He ran a hand through Stannis' hair, pleased with his handiwork under the circumstances. 

"Thank you." Stannis reached up to feel for himself and Davos pulled his hand away. "It is certainly better than I could have done myself."

He lifted his eyes to look at Davos. "Thank you. Gods or no, I am glad to be here again." There was almost a hint of a smile on his face. 

Davos did smile and laid a hand on Stannis' shoulder. "And I am glad to have you back with us, Stannis." Perhaps the more he said the name, the more natural it would feel.


	13. Renly V

The stormlords' sons arrived gradually from their homes all over the region. Blackgate was a near enough ride down the Kingsroad that Brus Buckler was the first to arrive. He was a little younger than Renly, with a round, pale face. Next, by ship, was Casper Wylde, whose uncle had nearly been flung from the walls by Stannis. Renly noticed that he gave the catapults an anxious glance when he first came into the castle.

Viserys gravitated toward the new company, and Renly found he almost missed playing alone with him. The other boys joined them for lessons with Maester Cressen and training with Ser Alliser, and after a time, even Renly had to admit there were some games that were more fun with more players, like monsters-and-maidens or come-into-my-castle.

Above all, though, he was anticipating the arrival of his cousin Alyn.

Every day, he watched from the ramparts for signs that a ship was approaching, flying the banners of House Estermont. He knew it was a long way from Greenstone, around Cape Wrath and across Shipbreaker Bay; he remembered taking the journey with Robert and Stannis.

At last, he saw the ship approaching.

"They're coming! They're coming!" He practically ran the whole way down from the tower. Soon, his kinsman would be here. Alyn would understand all of it. Grandfather, Uncle Aemon, and Uncle Lomas had fallen with Robert at the Trident.

They all assembled in the courtyard to meet the party from the docks. Renly stood on tiptoes so he could peep over Viserys' shoulder and see past the guards to where Alyn rode on a gray pony. His desire for a pony was back, fiercer than ever. Maybe Alyn would introduce him to the pony.

Alyn dismounted and knelt before Viserys.

"My lord prince, it is an honor to have been invited."

"Rise," Viserys said lazily. Sometimes, it seemed, even Viserys grew tired of being paid homage. "I welcome you as my bannerman, Lord Alyn. Estermont is one of my most important holdings. I am sure we will be good friends."

Alyn stood, relief in his dark eyes. Renly could not keep still and quiet any longer. He shoved his way forward while Ser Cyrian was introducing himself. As soon as he was through, Renly launched himself at his cousin.

"Alyn! Remember me?" He grinned.

Alyn glanced at him, then looked quickly away. "I am eager to be among your companions, my lord prince," he said to Viserys.

Renly supposed Alyn did not remember. He followed him as they went in to lunch. "I'm Renly. Remember? You played with me when we came to Greenstone, me and my brothers. It was Orenna's wedding. And we went sailing with Grandfather and Stannis?"

Alyn was looking straight ahead.

"Don't you remember? And next day was Grandfather's tourney! Robert won the melee, but Uncle Lomas won the archery." He grabbed Alyn's arm. "And then _you_ said he would teach you and I said it wasn't fair because you all lived at Greenstone, but then Stannis said--"

"Let _go._ " Alyn wrenched his arm out of Renly's grasp. "You're bothering me." Alyn strode away from Renly, to the other side of the table and sat between Bryce Caron and Gerald Gower.

Renly stood, stunned. His throat felt tight. Because it wasn't that Alyn couldn't remember. It was that he didn't _want_ to. He wiped his eye on his sleeve, quickly, so no one would see, and took a seat on the end of the long bench.

"He remembers," said Beric Dondarrion. "He just can't tell you because your brother was a rebel."

Renly looked up. Beric had arrived a few days ago, from far away in the Dornish Marches. He was already seven, like Viserys, and was missing his two front teeth.

"That's no fault of mine." Renly picked up his fork and ate a bite of fish. Any time he felt like he wasn't hungry, he remembered the men who had died. One of them had been Orenna's husband, whom Renly remembered as a handsome knight dancing with his new bride at the tourney that seemed so long ago.

"I know." Beric shrugged. "But he's the lord now. And he's kin to you, so it's bad if he looks like he cares. His father had the van at the Trident, my father said."

Renly thought about Alyn being lord of all of Greenstone, the big, sprawling castle they'd explored together and how Grandfather and Uncle Aemon had had to die for it to happen. _If Stannis is dead_ , he thought, looking at Viserys. _I am the rightful Lord of Storm's End.  
_   
He certainly didn't want Stannis to be dead, but he _could_ be. Even if he'd been trying to come back for Renly, he could have drowned, or been eaten by a bear, or had to fight bandits to save a beautiful lady.

Renly finished his lunch talking to Beric. By the time they all went out to play later, he had decided that he would take Beric at his side when he went to slay the Reachlords who had wronged him.

After lunch, all the boys gathered around Viserys.

"What should we play, my lord prince?" asked Casper Wylde eagerly.

"I think we will play Siege today," Viserys said thoughtfully. Renly held in his groan. He hated Siege, both for the mud and for the insult, and he wished once more that Baratheon forces had laid siege to the Red Keep instead. "Let's draw sides. I will lead one side and Renly can lead the other."

Everyone looked at Renly. No one was more surprised than him. "Thank you, my lord prince!" he said excitedly. He had been worried Viserys might like some of these older boys better; they were bigger and liked the same sorts of dirty, rough games Viserys liked, but to be chosen to lead an army was an unexpected honor. 

"I will choose first," Viserys said. "I choose Brus."

"I choose Alyn," said Renly grandly. "My kinsman will stand beside me."

Alyn shuffled forward, head down.

"Casper." Casper strode proudly to Viserys' side.

"Beric." Beric took his place next to Renly.

"Guyard," Viserys said, and Guyard skipped forward.

"Bryce," Renly said.

Bryce was looking over his shoulder at Viserys as he came to join Renly's line.

"Your castle is the well," Viserys said. "We will try to breach your defenses." Then his army hurried off.

"Prepare mudballs," Renly ordered. "We must hold the castle at all costs."

They fanned out around the well and began making mudballs. Renly scanned the yard for any sign of Viserys' forces. He stood tall, hands behind his back as he reviewed his men. In his mind's eye, he was walking the walls, looking down on the besiegers' camp.

"They may starve us out, but we must never yield." He knelt gingerly in the wet dirt around the well and started patting mud together. He still hated this game, even if he got to be the lord. There was mud under his fingernails. But a lord couldn't care if he got mud under his fingernails. They needed the mudballs to defend their castle.

Once more, Renly glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't see the enemy. He walked all around the well. Everyone was busily making mudballs. He pictured himself standing on the castle walls, watching for an enemy.

The mudball came out of nowhere, splattering across his front. His face burned with shame and anger. "Return fire!" he shouted. He no longer cared how dirty he got. Sometimes in war, you had to get dirty.

The volley from Viserys' side was unrelenting. Renly threw mud with all his might, imagining that he was truly battling for Storm's End. He would not lose the castle.

Then, out of nowhere, he found himself knocked into the mud. Brus was tagging the well. "We are through the gates!"

"You were supposed to be defending us," Bryce snapped at Renly.

"I was! I was your lord and you should have listened to me."

Bryce scowled. "You were a bad lord. It should've been me. My father was loyal but your brothers were traitors. How would you know how to be a good lord?"

"My brothers were fine lords!" His face burned with a mixture of shame and anger. Then he remembered something he'd heard Stannis say and it came out before he could stop it. "We were starving within these walls while your father sat on his fat arse in the Marches for so long I think he forgot he wasn't Dornish."

Bryce's face twisted. "He was loyal to the king!"

"He was a traitor to his liege lord! If he'd raised his banners at the Trident, Robert might still be alive!" The possibility was so tantalizingly close that Renly could almost see his victory, Prince Rhaegar with his head bashed in by a warhammer.

Bryce laughed. "My father said he was glad Lord Robert left him to guard against Dorne. He didn't want to follow Robert to his death because Robert was following his cock."

Before Renly could stop himself, he had flung himself at Bryce and they fell, grappling, into the mud. "Take it back! Take it back!"

"Stop!" Viserys ordered. They both froze, Renly's fist still buried in Bryce's cheek. Bryce had a handful of his hair. He had never heard Viserys sound like that. "A lord does not attack one of his own men."

Renly looked down at Bryce. "Sorry," he muttered. Bryce released him and he stood, feeling chastened.

"That is not how the game goes," Viserys said. "Your castle is still under siege. In a castle under siege, the men of the garrison must eat what they can find." He knelt down and pulled a fat gray worm from the black mud around the well.

The other boys groaned. Renly felt his throat close up. They hadn't eaten _worms_. They hadn't eaten things that weren't cooked. Even the rat had been cooked.

At least Bryce looked horrified. Renly smiled. It would serve him right.

"You should do it." Bryce pointed at Renly. "If you're the lord."

Renly swallowed hard. It was true. He thought about Stannis eating the rat's tail. He reached for the squirming gray worm. It squished between his fingers and he fought the urge to drop it. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them away. This would be just one more in the list of indignities done House Baratheon. One day, he would fight back.

He swallowed the worm as quickly as he could and started coughing. Bryce laughed and so did several of the others.

"Come on," Viserys said. "I want to play a different game."

They ran off, leaving Renly to stumble over to the well to draw himself up some water. The bucket was heavy, and as he struggled, a pair of hands reached out to help him. As soon as the bucket was over the lip of the well, Renly began gulping water so fast he didn't even bother to turn around to see who it was. 

"That was brave, you know."

Renly looked up. Beric was grinning at him. 

He swallowed. "I wanted Bryce to do it."

"I know." Beric paused. "Me too."

Renly set the bucket down warily. "Where did they go? Do you want to play with the prince?" 

Beric shrugged. "I want to play with you. Viserys is bossy."

Renly nodded in agreement. Having other children about was fun, but not when Viserys was so very bossy. 

"They went to the stables," Beric said. The stables held little interest for Renly without his pony or any of the other horses he knew to feed and pet. 

This was the perfect place to sneak off to the godswood, but could he do that with Beric watching? He thought longingly of his spot, with his stick. Viserys had nearly caught him once; he did not want to risk it again. But now they weren't alone for their lessons; the other boys had joined them. Renly was still the smallest, and his arms still got tired easily. The others had moved on to sparring while Ser Alliser still had Renly practicing forms.

"I would rather play at swords," he said casually. "We could go somewhere where the others won't bother us."

"All right," Beric said eagerly. Renly breathed a sigh of relief. He decided he could trust Beric with his secret.

"Come on."

He led Beric across the sunny courtyard and into the cool shade of the godswood. He hadn't had a chance to come back here since Viserys had discovered him the day Viserys had taken the lemon cakes. 

It took him some time to find his stick, since he hadn't had a chance to hide it in the hollow tree. He also needed to find a suitable stick for Beric.

"What exactly are we doing?"

Renly held up the two good sword-sticks proudly. "We're practicing sparring." It would be good to have someone to practice with.

Beric took the other stick and examined it. At first, Renly was afraid he might say something about its being a stick instead of a proper practice sword, but he simply said, "I think your problem is stamina. That's what our master-at-arms at home says. He says before you wield a sword, you need the strength to do it. You're…" He paused, as though fishing for a word that would not offend him. "You're kind of scrawny. And it's not your fault. It was because of the siege."

"So what do I do?"

Beric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You have to build up your strength." 

Renly looked at him thoughtfully. Beric was certainly bigger than he was. "How do I do that?"

"Climb trees," Beric answered instantly. 

Renly wrinkled his nose. He had never climbed a tree. 

"Come on," said Beric, noticing his hesitation. "If I can do it, you can do it."

Renly wasn't too sure about that. "You've done this before."

"Our master of arms makes us. But it's not too hard. I'll show you." Beric reached for a low-hanging branch, tested his weight, and swung himself up effortlessly. Before Renly could blink, Beric was three branches into the tree.

"Come on!" 

Renly reached for the branch and pulled. His shoulders burned just like when he was practicing swords. He managed to lift his feet off the ground before his fingers slipped off the branch. He landed hard on his back, tears stinging his eyes. His mouth opened, a sob nearly escaping before he noticed Beric kneeling beside him.

"Are you all right?" 

Renly sniffed before responding, not trusting himself not to burst into tears. "I'm fine." He pushed himself up. 

"You need a boost," Beric decided. "Here. Step on my hands." He crouched down and cupped his hands. "Up you go."

Renly planted one foot on Beric's hands and hoisted himself onto the branch. It was easier to get his arms around the branch and, after some flailing, he managed to swing a leg over and pull himself up.

He was sitting in a tree. 

He couldn't help but let a grin burst forth at the novelty of it. 

"See?" said Beric. He was looking up at Renly, hands on his hips, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Now you have to do the next one."


	14. Stannis VI

As they moved inexorably toward Slaver's Bay, the seas grew calmer and the sun more relentless. It was hard to remember that it was still winter. Perhaps the season did not matter here.

Stannis had found himself with the job of swabbing the deck. It was solitary, mind-numbing work, but it had to be done, and Stannis was as capable as any man of doing it. He liked the fact that he could bring a modicum of order to the small ship, even if he was, by necessity, alone with his thoughts. 

He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the cloth he kept tied around his neck. It was almost invigorating to live like this. Every day, he fell into bed utterly exhausted. Of course, when his starvation during the siege had been at its worst, it had been like that, but that had not been satisfying in the same way that this was. It made him realize he'd never done a day's honest work in his life. It had never been his place, of course, but no one here knew that. 

Stannis leaned on his mop and breathed deeply in the salt air. They would be nearing the ruins of Old Valyria now, from whence his ancestors, however distant, had come. _Though that is nothing special_ , he thought. _My great-grandsire might have been a king, but any bastard can claim dragon blood._  
  
"Lyonel?"

Stannis looked up. He'd gotten quite good at responding to that name as though it was his own, though it helped that he had not been called Stannis in ages. "Yes, Allard?"

It was the three youngest sons and he was pleased that he had finally worked out their names and which was which. Dale was the eldest, with Allard following, and then Matthos and little Maric. Renly would fit right between Allard and Matthos, he thought with some regret.

Davos frequently asked him if the boys were bothering him, but it was not the sons that were the problem. It was the father. Even now, a week later, Stannis still thought about the haircut Davos had given him. It had been a simple favor, done because the alternative would have been Stannis clumsily wielding the scissors in his left hand (or continuing to have his vision perpetually obscured). He knew this well, but he could not help but think about the smuggler's hands brushing his neck, the way he showed more care in making sure it was even than Stannis would have bothered to have done himself.

His ears burned and he pushed his shortened fingers through his hair. The man had been nothing but good to him and surely did not deserve to have his favors perverted the way Stannis—whatever was wrong with him—insisted on dwelling on them. _Why does it feel as though he pays me more mind than he does the rest of the crew? Do I seem that helpless?_  
  
"Are you almost done?" Allard asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Yes." It was not without some suspicion that Stannis said this. The children were prone to create messes, often after Stannis had just finished cleaning. He was beginning to suspect they did it on purpose and this exchange was doing little to dispel the notion.

Allard scuffed a bare foot across the deck. "We wanted to ask you about being a knight. Is it very hard?" Matthos and Maric crowded around, looking eager to hear.

Stannis resumed mopping. "Dreadfully so." At least the distraction made it seem less dull.

"What did you have to do to be a knight?" Allard's eyes were alight with anticipation. Stannis was reminded of Renly wanting to hear Robert's stories. He had never looked to Stannis with the same eagerness, though Stannis had never had such good tales. He had hoped Renly would come to him when he was older, when he wanted to know sailing, hawking, running a castle, but that would not happen now. 

"I trained with a master-at-arms from the time I was about your age. He was a knight in my lord father's service." He paused, unsure if this worked for his Lyonel Storm identity. _Yes,_ he decided, _my lord grandfather would have done it, had he had a bastard._ "He taught me to fight with a sword and other arms."

"What others?" Allard asked eagerly. 

"Spear, lance, mace." He watched the boys' eyes widen as he listed them. "I prefer the sword."

"Why?"

Stannis frowned, thinking of Robert swinging his warhammer around. _And see where that has got him, dead in the waters of the Trident._ "I found it the most practical. You can be cut down while swinging your mace above your head, and a spear is no good in close quarters." They were all staring at him, open-mouthed, so he decided it was best to change the subject. "Then, when I came of age, I went out to make mine own way."

"Your father didn't want you to stay with him?" Maric asked with some concern.

"Father says we are to be part of his crew," Matthos added sagely. "He says a man does not turn his back on his blood."

 _That is what I did_. Stannis went back to mopping. "And so you shall. You are trueborn and not poor luck for your father."

Allard's eyebrows knit. "And you're poor luck because you're a bastard?"

"Aye. I have had little to show me otherwise." It wasn't much of a lie as things stood, given the luck he'd experienced throughout his life. _Perhaps there was something Father neglected to tell me._ He was surprised Robert had never called him bastard for how different they were. The children drifted off after that; clearly, their interest in Stannis had been exhausted. 

Lost in thought, he turned, nearly treading on Maric whom he had not noticed creeping up behind him. 

"Did it hurt when they cut your fingers off?" he asked. 

"Yes." Stannis tried to temper his annoyance. Hadn't he vowed he would put up with Renly's questions if only he could see him again? He would do the same with these children. "Do not let it happen to you. Now, run along, so that I may mop where you stand."

Maric dashed off without another word. Stannis smiled to himself as he got back to work. They truly were no trouble and quite obedient in the end. Davos had raised good children. 

Once he'd finished his mopping, he stowed the mop and bucket below and came back on deck to take the air. It was a good day, by Davos' thinking; he still drew breath. He had started telling himself this often. It made things seem less dire and was perhaps the only thing keeping himself from going mad at the absurd turn his life had taken. _Men like Davos learn to be happy with less than I have ever had. Can I be like them?_  
  
He walked to the railing and leaned on it, enjoying the wind in his face as the small ship cut through the water. They were making good time, if Stannis' knowledge was anything to go by. The grandfather he now claimed for sire had taught him to run a ship, to command the men, but it had all been what he would need to know as a noble captain, commanding a ship in Robert's name. It was not what someone like Davos would have to know—the taste of the wind, the color of the sky, the look of the sea. Stannis almost entertained that he could learn it if he stayed here, but to what end?

He could not stay with the man. The idea was patently ridiculous. Stannis was no sailor. He was no sellsword, either, of course, but he had managed to make himself a reasonable approximation of one.

 _The fool needs guarding_ , he told himself. _He ventures into foreign ports with no blade, no knowledge of the tongue… How does he expect not to be set upon forthwith?_ He had nearly convinced himself that it was his very responsibility to look after him. The fact that Stannis had lost his own blade to such a thief did not matter; there had been extenuating circumstances.

He frowned. This line of thought was obfuscating the issue. He needed to be set off as soon as possible. They were coming up on Slaver's Bay and while Stannis did not relish being left there, he could sell his sword anywhere.

Well, he would buy one first, and then sell it.

He stood and stretched. Byren had all but evicted him from the kitchen, but perhaps he would not look unkindly on Stannis asking what he could do. He hated to be idle. 

That was when he noticed Maric climbing onto the port side railing. Visions danced before his eyes of Robert letting Renly stand on the battlements to look at the boats on Shipbreaker Bay. 

"Maric!" he cried, striding forward. 

Maric's head spun as he swung one leg over the railing. "Lyonel! Look! They are pirate ships coming to—" He did not get to give voice to the rest of his fancy because at that moment, he toppled over the side. 

Stannis was barely conscious of crossing the deck in two strides and vaulting over the railing. He hit the water with a smack that stole his breath and the water filling his mouth prevented him from drawing another.

He ignored that and the salt stinging his eyes, bent only on the small form just out of reach. As he kicked forward, lungs burning, he thought to thank the gods and the memory of his father for teaching him to swim. His right arm went around Maric's waist and he broke the surface, treading water as he pulled the boy up so he could breathe, though he wasn't sure if he was actually doing so.

"Lyonel!" Someone had thrown a rope over the side. Stannis fought his way over to it with his burden. At least Maric was small. Smaller than Renly. He was easy to tuck under an arm as he struggled his way back on deck. 

As he fought his way over the railing, hands reached for him, trying to take the child from him, but he smacked Maric's back. They had to get the water out of him. _Mother, please, if you are there, let him live. Do not take Davos' son from him._  
  
His answer was a small, sputtering cough, and then Maric was clinging to him, coughing in between sobs.

Davos pushed his way through the knot of men. "Maric! Maric! Oh, thank the Seven."

One of Maric's arms shot out to wrap around Davos' neck, but his other hand still clutched Stannis' wet tunic. He was still waiting for the child to speak, but he supposed crying was as good as words to show he had his breath back.

Davos unhooked Maric's hand from Stannis and hefted him on his hip. "Come. You both need dry clothes."

Stannis followed Davos obediently below, slipping into his quarters for a towel and his other set of clothes. Once he had changed clothes, he lay on his mattress. His chest ached, but whether it was from the seawater or Davos' recent proximity, he could not be sure. 

_It is an affront to his kindness_ , he told himself. _I have never been this way before, never had my head turned by a man._ In truth, he had never had his head turned by anyone, as much as Robert despaired of him.

He noticed the nails on his left hand digging into his palm at the memory, the stumps of his fingers on the right aching as he clenched his fists. Robert was dead now and could do him no more harm. He would see how Maric was, he decided. He needed to see the child for himself, needed to see Davos. He swung his legs out of bed and left his small cabin. __  
  
By the time he had reached Davos', however, he found he had nearly lost his nerve. He knocked on the door, feeling suddenly formal.

"Enter," came the soft reply from within.

Davos was sitting on his bed, watching Maric sleep. He looked tired and Stannis wondered if he even ought to bother him.

"How is he?" he asked softly.

Davos brushed back Maric's hair. "He is running a slight fever, I fear. Gods willing it does not become more. What about you?"

"Perfectly all right." Stannis felt guilty that he himself was fine while Maric was ill. "I am sorry, I should have kept him away from the railing."

Davos' eyes did not leave his son. "It is not your job to watch them, by the gods, it is _mine_."

"It cannot be your fault," Stannis nearly snapped. "All of the crew look after the children in their turn, and you were not on deck."

"And you were." Davos looked up at him. "You saved his life, Stannis. I cannot repay you for that."

"We will never be finished if we keep paying each other back for things," Stannis muttered through his teeth. He could not stand the way Davos was looking at him, with gratitude in his warm brown eyes. He could not bear standing there without—what? Touching him? He shook his head. This would not do. It was clear that Davos was an honorable man. "There must be something I can do. Perhaps some cool cloths. We must keep him from growing too warm."

Davos nodded. "Yes. Thank you. That would be good, if you could."

Stannis hurried off, pleased to have a task for he hated the directions his idle thoughts took him of late. He found some cloths that looked reasonably clean and filled a basin with cool, fresh water. He knew the value of fresh water aboard ship, but was reluctant to use seawater when Maric had just been immersed in it.

"Lyonel?" a small voice asked, as he headed down the passageway to Davos' quarters. "Will Maric die?"

Stannis hesitated. Matthos was of an age with Renly and Stannis could see fear in his eyes. He had never been good at answering Renly's questions about matters that were heavy even for men grown. All he could do was be honest. "He may. We can only hope that he will not."

Matthos did not look satisfied by this, but it was not a satisfying answer.

"Go to your brothers," Stannis said, trying to keep his voice gentle. "Mind Dale. Your father or I will come and tell you if there is anything you should know."

Matthos nodded and Stannis watched him go off in the direction of the boys' room. 

When he returned, Maric was breathing harder, two spots of color on his cheeks. Stannis handed over the damp cloths and stepped back, waiting for further instruction.

"Thank you," Davos said, laying a cloth over Maric's forehead. His face was tight with worry and Stannis suddenly found that he had lain a hand between Davos' shoulders. He hoped it felt as reassuring as it was meant. At any rate, Davos seemed to relax at his touch. 

"It is not unusual," he said, with more confidence than he actually felt. "I may be no sailor, but I have lived my whole life by the sea and it is the responsibility of the Lord of Storm's End to see to those who run afoul of it. For years, I saw my father's men bring survivors from wrecks on Shipbreaker Bay into the castle. Many had fevers and many survived. Seawater befouls the lungs and—" He stopped, realizing he was saying too much, that the reminder would be more like to upset Davos than reassure him. "Most were fine," he added gruffly. _Except the ones we lost to greyscale days later._

Davos laid a hand on Stannis' arm. "I know. I have seen many such illnesses in my time."

Stannis closed his eyes, wishing for the first time in his life that he had a sept, statues, candles, everything he would need to make this proper. _You spared his life, Mother, now I must ask another favor. If you make this child well again, consider yourself to have no truer servant than Stannis Baratheon._ He did not know if the gods existed, still, but if they could make this happen, then he would devote himself to them. 

Davos resumed wetting the boy's forehead. His breath was coming in gasps and Stannis remembered something Maester Cressen had always done for him when he had a bad cough, and propped him up on both pillows.

"He needs to cough up the foulness that has settled in his lungs," he told Davos, pleased to have remembered. "The sickness will not pass until it has left him."

Davos nodded wearily.

"If we had leeches, I would bleed him." Stannis knew some men were indiscriminate about bleeding, but Maester Cressen had told him that leeches controlled the evacuation of blood from the body. If he were to cut Maric's arm with a knife, he would be like to befoul the blood as much as the lungs.

"You have done much for us today. I cannot begin to thank you."

"It was nothing. Only what was right."

Davos smiled weakly. "I am glad you are here. See, the gods did have some purpose in bringing you our way."

Stannis considered this, rolling the idea around in his mind. Perhaps he was too tired to allow anything to make sense. "Go and rest in my quarters. I have watched my maester at his work all of my life. I may not have gone to the Citadel myself, but I may have gleaned something. He always told me what he was doing for the sick."

Davos stood reluctantly, but the exhaustion was plain on his face. "Thank you, Stannis," he said earnestly. "You are truly a good man."

Stannis smiled tightly as he watched Davos go. It was only after he had left that he realized he had called him by his true name. A pleasant warmth settled into his belly at the intimacy, however small, that he would have once called presumption. _The eastern air is affecting me_ , he decided, as he sat on the edge of the bed and wrung out another cloth. _That is all it must be._


	15. Davos IV

Davos didn't think he would be capable of sleep but the next thing he knew, he was waking in Stannis' bunk. It was early, not yet dawn, and for a moment, he was confused, not remembering the events of the previous day or why he wasn't in his own bed. Then the memories hit him all at once—Maric's near-drowning, Stannis' rescue, the fever. He shoved the covers aside and threw himself out of bed on wobbly legs.

In his own quarters, Maric lay on Davos' bed, tossing fitfully. Stannis was sitting beside him, blotting him with wet cloths. It was stuffy and Stannis' hair was plastered to his forehead. It took him a moment to notice Davos' presence.

"Did you rest?" he asked, not looking up from his work.

"Aye, a bit." Davos put a hand on his shoulder. The muscles were tense beneath his shirt, and he could not help but rub slightly, a wordless gesture of appreciation. "How does he fare?"

"Still feverish." Stannis pulled up the blanket Maric had just kicked off. "I thought I could make him sweat out the foulness."

"Thank you." Davos sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed Maric's hand. Little fingers curled weakly around his. "Children may be stronger than they seem, but I still cannot stand to see him like this."

"He has lasted the night, so he may yet live." Stannis looked up at him, blue eyes earnest. "I have been praying." He said this as though he were quite confused to have found himself doing so. "I do not know if the gods hear."

Davos was not sure either. His relationship with the gods had always been somewhat fraught. A seaman relied on the gods to get him to his destination in one piece, but Davos had not felt their presences of late.

"I am sure they do. Do you want to rest? I can stay with him."

"I do not feel tired," Stannis said, but all the same, he rose. "But I will take the air." Davos watched him go.

"Father?" asked Maric, drawing Davos' attention away from the door that had just shut behind Stannis. 

"Yes, sweetling. I'm here." Davos pressed a kiss to Maric's damp forehead. 

"Lyonel sat with me," Maric said. "He told me he has a little brother like me. He told me a lot about him. He likes to play pretend, too."

Davos smiled to imagine Stannis talking to the sick Maric. _He must miss his brother.  
_  
Maric slipped back to sleep, and, once Davos was assured of it, he went to see to the other children. _I have not laid eyes on them since yesterday afternoon_ , he thought. _Surely they have not got into too much trouble._

He was surprised to meet Stannis coming from the boys' room. He looked away when he saw Davos, as though embarrassed to be caught at it.

"They're still asleep," he said. "If you want to sit up with Maric, I will watch them today."

"And when will you sleep?"

Stannis waved his hand vaguely. "In time."

For the next day, they took turns caring for Maric and the other children, sleeping in shifts. Davos was grateful for the company and the help. He knew Stannis would likely prefer to do something other than minister to a sick child, but he was glad for it all the same. 

"I want to thank you," he said. It was the dead of night, but Davos was wide awake. "You did not have to do this."

Stannis shrugged. "It was something I could do."

Davos smiled. He liked sitting here with Stannis in the flickering light from their small candle, despite the circumstances. "You are good with the children, you know. I imagine you have experience from your brother."

Stannis sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I never sat with him like this. There were nurses for that, and Maester Cressen. He would come to me, recite his lessons." He paused. "During the siege, he needed me more. He was frightened." He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes fixed downward. "He saw them take my fingers. I don't know what he thought of that. I don't know what they will have done to him now."

Davos had no idea what would happen to a child when lords fought each other. "He is highborn," he said slowly. "They cannot have hurt him."

Stannis stretched his long legs in front of him. "He is a Baratheon. They will be afraid of his rebelling when he comes of age. Would the stormlords rise again for Renly, when they have followed a Baratheon of Storm's End for so many years? That is why they will try to break him. No other reason."

"Wouldn't that make him more like to rebel?"

Stannis' smile was almost ghoulish. "You bring logic into a situation where it has no place. You should be an advisor to these fine lords, Davos. There was a debate as to whether they ought take Renly's hand or his life. In the end, I lost my fingers."

Davos felt the color drain from his face. "Are you afraid they will kill him now?" _I will never understand these things. Thank the gods that I was born low.  
_   
"It is not likely. Mace Tyrell will want to show his loyalty to the crown, but you are right, he is highborn and they will not anger the lords they wish to court, those who followed my lord father, though none will stand up for him. Perhaps he will be a maester or a septon. They may not even want him at the Wall; they will not want a sword in his hand."

"Then he will be safe," Davos said with conviction. At least he no longer had to fear that they had left a little boy to certain death.

"Aye, safe, and when he is a man grown he will remember neither Robert nor me." There was a sad edge to his voice. "He never knew our parents. He will not know who he is, no matter what they make him do. He could be anywhere. Mace Tyrell could have him for a cupbearer for all I know. They will want to humiliate the Baratheon name, even summon me out of hiding." 

"Not if we go back for him." Perhaps it was his fatigue, perhaps it was the thought of what he would do if he lost any of his sons. Perhaps it was the thought that Stannis would never ask for it himself, though he had to want it more than anything.

Stannis looked up, still half scowling. "Go back for him? They want my head. I cannot simply walk in and claim my brother."

Davos smiled. "You are speaking to a smuggler, remember? We would smuggle him out, not ask for him at the castle gates."

"He may not even be at Storm's End!"

"Then we will smuggle him out of Oldtown, or Highgarden, or wherever else they have sent him. I have traded with wildlings; I would not fear taking him from the Night's Watch, or even the Mad King himself."

Stannis raised an eyebrow. "I thought the Night's Watch killed your old master."

"Aye, they did. We could steal your brother from them in Roro Uhoris' name."

"Perhaps." One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk, an improvement over the clenched jaw. "If we return alive from your business in Slaver's Bay, then I will hire you to kidnap Renly. For service, not coin, I am sorry to say."

"I have never quite delved into kidnapping, but I suppose I can try." He caught Stannis' eye with what he hoped was a roguish smile. "It would put me in company with the others of my kind. And I will gladly accept service." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how it sounded and flushed.

Stannis did not seem to notice. "Perhaps I truly can have him back. I would have thought this life would be no place for a child, but yours tolerate it well."

Davos nodded. "They have taken to sea as well as any sailor's sons can be expected to. And I am glad for that. When I lost my Marya, I vowed that I would not be parted from them." He stroked Maric's hair. "So far, I have kept that promise, though you are right that I am perhaps too busy for them, but I have no choice unless I were to marry again. I am glad the crew does not seem to mind them too much. And I appreciate your help with them."

"They are truly no trouble." Stannis looked down at his crossed arms. "Indeed, they remind me of Renly. Or how I ought to have treated him." 

"You will have him back. I will see to it."

Stannis leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed. "And to take where? I would have to find steady work in one of the Free Cities and raise him there."

"You do a fine enough job here with us. We would be honored to keep you on."

Stannis' jaw was moving. "Would that I could do more than swab the deck."

Davos smiled. "You do well with the children, I have already said."

Stannis snorted, though it seemed to be more in amusement than outright derision. "A nursemaid?"

"We have none, and he seems to like you."

Stannis looked down again, as though if he stared at the floorboards long enough they might provide some guidance. "I do not mind," he said. "Until the child is well. You are busy." If Davos looked closely, he could almost detect a real smile. _Finally. Now, to see one full on.  
_   
They were quiet for a long time, Davos content simply on watching Stannis out of the corner of his eye. He looked deep in thought, eyes fixed to the floor. Davos was suddenly overcome by the desire to ask what troubled him. A moment later, his head fell back and Davos realized he'd fallen asleep.

 _Of course. Gods only know what hour it is.  
_   
He debated waking Stannis and sending him to his own bed, but something told him that such a peaceful sleep was better left undisturbed. His face had lost some of its intensity, although the position could not possibly have been comfortable. Davos got up and took a blanket from the chest at the foot of his bed, where it had been doing a poor job of concealing Illyrio's coin and draped it over Stannis. He did not wake.

Maric was sleeping calmly, too, and Davos stood in the middle of the room for a moment, somehow feeling responsible for the both of them. What strange coincidences had led to this moment? First he had rescued the lordling and now it seemed he would have him for quite a bit longer than he had first intended.

But of course, it was more than generosity behind his offer of a place for Stannis. He wanted him nearby. Even just standing here, watching Stannis sleep, filled him with a peaceful calm. There was likely no chance that Stannis' interest was the same, but Davos could no longer ignore his own attraction for what it was. It was not the first time a man had drawn his interest, but it was the first time the man had been so utterly… unsuitable. Highborn and a wanted man besides, Stannis was a far cry from sailors and dockside whores.

 _Perhaps I should have sent him away_ , he thought. _But then if I had, no one would have been there to save Maric._ He looked up again at his sleeping son, who was beginning to stir. 

Then, he started coughing. Davos helped him sit up, trying to keep his own fear at bay.

"Come on, Maric," he said softly. "You must get that up. Do not stop."

The coughs turned to sobs. Davos wished there was something he could do to take the pain on himself. This coughing was almost worse than the fever.

When Davos turned around, Stannis was watching him, clutching the blanket at his shoulders. Davos wondered how long he had been awake. He had never seen him look so raw and unguarded, as if he had not expected Davos to turn around. His stormy blue eyes seemed to have lost some of their intensity. He would not have gone so far as to call the expression soft, but it was perhaps as close as Stannis got to it.

The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity before Stannis coughed. At first, Davos was struck by dread that he would fall to the illness, too, but it was not Maric's wet cough, more like something to break the tension. "How does he seem?"

"Much better. I think the fever has broken. Would you like to see for yourself?"

Stannis pushed himself out of his chair and lurched forward stiffly, like a man who has slept in a chair is wont to. His right hand grazed Davos' arm as he reached for Maric and he yanked it back as if shocked. His mouth twitched and he laid his hand flat on Maric's forehead as though nothing had happened. He nodded curtly.

"Good. Though there is still the cough and the threat of greyscale."

Davos felt a nervousness in the pit of his stomach. "Do you think that is a danger, when he spent so little time in the water?"

"It does not even require a dunking. It can set in after an illness like this. Just the dampness will do it."

Davos nodded. He had traveled enough to know this, but he hoped that an educated man might have a better answer.

"In the meantime," Stannis continued, "we must not let the other children come close to him."

Davos nodded. It was a grim sort of determination, but he was glad that if that was the fate that lay before them, Stannis would be at their side.


	16. Renly VI

Over the next few weeks, Beric helped Renly build up his strength and stamina. It wasn't long before he felt the effects in the training yard. Ser Alliser still would not let him join in the sparring, but he had a feeling he could do it, based on how well he fought when he played with Beric.

Besides being able to help Renly with his training, Beric was fun to play with. Some days, they spent more time chasing each other around the godswood or playing hide-and-go-seek than practicing. Beric had a decent imagination, too, and was more than willing to join Renly in hunting monsters among the gnarled roots of the godswood. 

At long last, Ser Alliser announced that they would hold another round of sparring, and he included Renly in it.

"Hello!" Guyard said, when Ser Alliser put them together. "You're going to be easy to beat. Are you sure you're really older than me?" 

Renly scowled. He didn't like that five-year-old Guyard was bigger than him. Renly knew that he'd been through a siege and hasn't grown much since he'd been five himself. But he also knew that he was supposed to be bigger. Robert and Stannis were big, and Renly had every reason to believe he'd be just as tall and broad as they were one day.

How long would it take for him to grow? He couldn't stay this size forever, could he? 

"Our first pair will be Crow Spawn and Ser Fawn." Renly noticed a scowl on Guyard's face as they took up positions in the middle of the yard. _He doesn't like his nickname either_ , he realized. 

Guyard's father had been with Robert on the Trident and had taken the black rather than disavow his liege lord. That had made Guyard's brother lord, just as it had made Guyard crow pawn. _Maybe_ , thought Renly, _I can number him among my knightly companions when Stannis retakes Storm's End. They're not kneelers._  
  
Renly took up a starting position, just as he'd done countless times with Beric, and Ser Alliser gave the signal to begin. Renly and Guyard eyed each other carefully. Renly knew that the one who moved first usually lost, and he was determined not to let it be him. 

Guyard swung his sword first and Renly brought his up to block. It was just like playing with Beric. Guyard danced back, as they'd been shown and tried to come at Renly from a different direction. 

"Die, traitor!" he shouted.

"I'm not a traitor!" Renly swung his sword at Guyard and they clacked together with a satisfying sound. Now _this_ was real fighting!

Renly was oblivious to the other boys in the yard as he dueled with Guyard. He could tell he was making Guyard work hard, which pleased him. It wasn't easy, though; to Renly's annoyance, they _were_ evenly matched. After a while, he could begin to feel his arms getting tired, but he vowed to forge on and see the battle through.

In his mind, he was suddenly in Essos with Stannis, facing a dozen Dothraki screamers. He had to get by this one if he was going to rescue his brother. He couldn't fail if someone was depending on him. 

"For Storm's End!" he cried, swinging for the hilt of Guyard's sword. 

As he did, his own sword slipped from his hand and went hurtling across the training yard. Guyard's sword hit Renly in the side of the head and he landed on his knees. 

"You're dead," Guyard informed him. 

"I know," Renly growled. There was nothing more obnoxious than being told you were dead by the person who had killed you. 

"Get up, Ser Fawn," Ser Alliser said. He turned back to the other boys. "Can anyone tell Ser Fawn what he did wrong?"

"He dropped his sword,'" Caspar said. The others giggled but Beric gave Renly a friendly smile. 

"Guyard gave him a lot of openings he could've taken," Beric said, which really wasn't anything bad about Renly. He grinned. 

Ser Alliser dismissed them and the next pair went up. Renly plopped down next to Beric.

"You did good," Beric said. 

"Thanks." Renly couldn't feel too badly about losing because he had come close enough to winning. It was better than he should have done, given the circumstances. 

He let his mind wander as the other pairs sparred. He was striding beside Stannis, sword at his side. Perhaps they would go far to the East and find dragons to slay. Renly thought he might enjoy slaying dragons.

Renly looked up when he heard Viserys cry out. The prince had lost his footing and toppled back over a rock.

"Hooray!" Alyn jumped for joy, sword raised skyward. "I won! I beat the prince!" 

Renly's heart felt like a block of ice. He knew this was not wise. His cousin would get into trouble for sure. He was still celebrating, whooping about what a great knight he was going to be. Something Stannis often said echoed in his mind. _Nobody likes a sore winner._

Nobody liked a sore winner less than Viserys, who was leaning on Ser Alliser. "Yes, you'll be a great knight, Alyn." His voice was dangerously low and Renly's heart was fluttering in his chest, even though it wasn't directed at him. "A knight indeed. And a knight only. House Estermont has betrayed the Iron Throne and is hereby stripped of half their lands and reduced to a mere knightly house."

Renly felt a rush of sick dread. He drew his knees up to his chest and could sense the boys around him try to make themselves small, too. Even though Renly had already been disinherited entirely, it still made him feel sick to see it, to hear Alyn's desperate pleas echo throughout the courtyard as Viserys was helped away. Renly supposed their lesson was over. 

Shakily, he got to his feet. Even though a knighthood was more than he himself had, it was still awful to see a great stormlands house, the house of their lady mother so reduced . 

Slowly, cautiously, he approached Alyn, who was still standing in the middle of the yard, sobbing, wooden sword at his feet. Renly reached out for his shoulder. Maybe now he and Alyn could be friends, now that Alyn understood what it was like to lose everything.

"Alyn," he said.

Alyn wrenched out of Renly's grasp. "Don't touch me! You're nothing but a traitor. Father and Grandfather are dead because of your brother."

"But you're my cousin!" 

Alyn winced visibly at his words. "Would that it wasn't so. My grandfather Jordayne says he never should have sent my mother to marry my father. He says I would do best to learn from Dornishmen like him." His lip trembled again. "He'll _kill_ me." 

Renly reached for him again, but Alyn stormed off. Tears sprang up in Renly's eyes. Someone patted him on the shoulder. He looked up. It was Beric. 

"Come on," he said. "Let's go play. It's probably better if we stay out of their way." 

In the end, Ser Cyrian came to tell the children that Alyn would not be sent away from Storm's End, though Viserys' pronouncement stood as law. The king had vested in Viserys the power to decide the fate of whichever of the stormlands houses he so chose. 

It stood as a warning to all of them, and Renly could sense a shift in the mood of the other children. Renly, however, didn't have a castle to lose. Perhaps that was when he stopped caring.

A few days later when they all filed into the great hall for lunch, there was a long package lying on the high table. Renly stopped, knowing somehow, in a way he could not articulate, that something was wrong. There were ladders against the wall, next to the bare spot where the great stag tapestry had once hung. Renly hated that empty space, the square of bright, clean stone standing out against the aged, smoke-stained rest of the wall.

"My tapestry!" Viserys pushed past him to get up to the table. "Hang up my tapestry!"

"They are, my prince," Ser Cyrian said. "It will be up soon."

Renly watched with a feeling of trepidation as the great tapestry was lifted into its hanging place and unfurled. When he saw it, his stomach dropped like a stone.

The tapestry showed three dragons, one red, one black, and one golden flying over a burning forest. All the animals were fleeing the destruction. At the center was a stag, its antlers ablaze. Renly felt the bile rise in his throat. He was going to throw up. 

Viserys was enraptured. He approached the tapestry, eyes shining. "It's _perfect_." He turned to the assembled children. "Isn't it perfect?"

They all exchanged nervous glances.

"It's beautiful, my prince," said Beric diplomatically.

The others murmured similar acknowledgements.

Viserys' gaze fixed on Renly. "Isn't it magnificent?"

"It's very well-made, my prince." He was struggling to keep his breathing even. _It's just a tapestry_ , he told himself. _It can't hurt me. It'll just fuel my fury._  
  
He knew it was more than that, though. It was a deliberate tactic to get at him, to reinforce what had happened to House Baratheon. 

"Aren't dragons stronger than stags?"

Renly kept his lips pressed together.

"Dragons are stronger than stags," Casper said smugly.

"Dragons are stronger than stags!" exclaimed Guyard, jumping up and down, sending his dark curls bouncing. "We _eat_ venison. Who ever heard of eating dragons?"

"What kind of house would eat their own sigil?" Alyn said.

"Turtle soup," Renly hissed at him, earning a scowl. Somehow, he had stopped wanting to be nice to Alyn.

“Now that the new tapestry is in place, we must dispose of the old one,” Viserys said. “Are the preparations complete?”

“Yes, my lord prince,” said Ser Cyrian.

“Excellent." Viserys smiled at Renly, like a snake, if snakes could smile. "We are going to have a great bonfire after lunch."

Somehow Renly didn't like what that look might signify. He hardly tasted his lunch, even though he forced himself to finish it because he would never waste food again. Viserys was also picking at his food, but Renly could tell he was excited, not nervous. Renly wasn't sure he liked anything that made Viserys excited.

After lunch, they all followed Viserys out through the castle gates. At the edge of the wood, there was a clearing where all the brush had been removed to expose bare earth. In it was a pile of wood. It took Renly a moment to comprehend what was going to happen. 

Beside them, in front of the fire were all the stag things. He had wondered where all those things—the castle banners, Robert and Stannis' clothes, the tapestries from their lord father's bedroom, the statue in the solar that Renly had liked to pretend to feed like a horse when he was little. What little lunch he'd eaten was threatening to come back up.

Viserys stood, hands on his hips, surveying the bonfire sight, which was nearly three times his height. "Splendid," he said. "Light it."

A servant handed Viserys a lit torch and he put it to the pile of kindling. The fire roared to life. 

Viserys next turned his attention to the pile of things from the castle. Renly stayed rooted to the spot, unable to protest as Viserys' hand plunged into it and came away with a gold pin in the shape of a stag. _That was my lady mother's_ , Renly thought dazedly. _Our lord father had it made as a wedding present to her and Robert was going to pin it on Lady Lyanna on a sunny day in the sept and then we would all have a big party._ His vision swam as Viserys threw the pin onto the fire. 

Viserys turned back to the assemblage. "Come on!" he said eagerly. 'It's fun." 

Alyn was the first of them to step forward. Renly hated him instantly. _Disloyal_ , he thought. _Turncloak._ Alyn's hand went straight to a banner. It had hung in the great hall and read _Ours is the fury_. Renly remembered learning to read, remembering how the writing he'd seen every day of his life suddenly had resolved into the words Stannis had always promised it said. 

Gradually, the others joined Alyn. Renly couldn't move. He was watching Viserys. He appeared transfixed and Renly could see the flames dancing in his eyes. Renly suddenly realized that he must be mad. Stannis had said half the Targaryens were. 

"Don't we come from Targaryens?" he'd asked. 

Stannis had scowled. "They walk the line between madness and greatness. Aegon V was great. Most of the rest of them are mad." 

"Look, Renly," Viserys said suddenly. "See how well the dragon fire burns the stags?"

"I see." Renly didn't know what else to say. Now was not the time for protest, not when one was faced with a madman. 

"This is really my castle now. All of the stag things belonged to your rebel brothers. But you're loyal to me, aren't you, Renly?" Viserys turned to him, violet eyes shining with hope. "You're my friend?"

"Yes," Renly said woodenly. He was afraid to give any other answer. 

Viserys turned to the men. “Add the tapestry."

At those words, Renly's stomach sank lower than he thought it possibly could. They could burn everything else, but they couldn't burn that. A group of men came forward, carrying the stag tapestry. Renly ran forward desperately, though he knew not what he would do once he reached it. He couldn't fight them. 

"What are you doing, Renly?" Viserys asked.

Renly froze. "Nothing." Cold dread crept up his spine as the servants heaved the tapestry onto the blaze. The dusty old threads that Renly was sure dated back to the Storm Kings caught as quick as dry leaves. Soon it would be gone, right before his eyes. 

"Dragons are stronger than stags," Guyard announced suddenly.

“Dragons are stronger than stags,” Alyn agreed. Renly was possessed by a sudden desire to kick in his stupid teeth.

The others joined in. "Dragons are stronger than stags! Dragons are stronger than stags!"

Renly kept his jaw set. He would not say it. He would never say it. It might have been true, but he would never turn his back on the noble stag. Dragons were scavengers, they carried off maidens, they stole treasure. The noble stag was the king of the forest, its constant protector. Even though they ate venison, Robert had always told him that you needed to respect the stag. If you were going to kill something beautiful, you had to respect it. He had told Renly this in the great hall, on long cold nights by the fire, under the stag tapestry.

And, then, there was what Stannis had told him every time he had run into his solar during the siege saying he was a dragon.

"All the dragons are dead." The words were out before he could think about it. 

Every head turned to look at him. There was no sound but the crackling of the bonfire.

"What did you say, Renly?" Viserys was advancing on him, voice dangerously low like it had been in the yard with Alyn.

"I said, 'All the dragons are dead,'" he repeated in his clearest, most grown-up voice. He would own the words that had once been Stannis'.

Over Viserys' shoulder, he saw Beric, wide-eyed with panic shaking his head furiously. He ignored him. He had no friends, no brothers, nothing left. All he had left was his fury and he was tired of pushing it down.

"They have been dead for over one hundred years," he said, proud to have remembered exactly what Stannis had said. "The last one died feeble and unable to sit a rider. There will never be another."

Viserys' eyes were dark with rage. "Do you want to wake the dragon, Renly?"

For some reason, the only response he could come up with was laughter. "You're not a dragon." Pretending was one thing, but Renly had never taken it seriously before. Did he _really_ think he was a dragon?

Pain sprang up suddenly in his cheek and it took a moment for him to realize Viserys had slapped him. All the other boys were staring at them. Renly was so surprised his mouth dropped open as his cheek stung.

"Do you want to wake the dragon?" Viserys shouted, right in his face.

"They're dead!" Renly screamed at the top of his lungs. "They're all dead and you're not a dragon!"

"The dragons are the lords of the Seven Kingdoms!" Viserys cried. Everyone—the children, Ser Alliser, Ser Cyrian, the servants, were staring, but Renly hardly noticed. "The stags are gone. One is dead, one is fled, and now there's only you."

"You're wrong!" Renly could not hold back anymore. "Stannis is coming back for me."

"If he cared about you, why hasn't he? He fled like a coward under dark of night, with that smuggler."

Renly didn't know the answer to that, but he knew that couldn't be true. Stannis would never leave him behind if he didn't have to, and it certainly wouldn't be forever.

He flung himself at Viserys and they fell, grappling to the dirt. He knew this was wrong, that he would be punished severely, but he was past the point of caring. All that was left was his fury.

"Take it back!" Renly seized Viserys' hair and yanked.

" _You_ take it back." Viserys scratched at Renly's face and he forced his hand away. Why were his nails so long? Did he think they were talons or something?

Suddenly, Renly felt himself lifted by his hair. Ser Alliser was pulling himself off Viserys. "You will not lay hands on the prince," he roared in Renly's ear.

Renly squirmed out of his grasp, glaring at Ser Alliser with all the venom he could muster. "He started it."

"I do not _care_ who started it," Ser Cyrian said. "You have acted disgracefully. Prince Viserys is your gracious host and this is how you show your gratitude?"

Renly clenched his fists so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms. "Storm's End is _my_ home! He should be _my_ guest."

"As it was," Ser Cyrian said soberly. "Before your brother decided to play the game of thrones."

Renly's heart was pounding so hard he was afraid it might leap out of his chest. It was all tremendously unfair, but he could not deny Ser Cyrian's words. Tears sprang at the corners of his eyes.

"I think Renly should go to his room," Viserys said primly, looking at Ser Cyrian.

Renly did not break eye contact. They were waiting for him to flinch, they were waiting for him to start crying and apologize. That was what they all did, to stay on Viserys' good side. He thought of Alyn's humiliation. It _was_ all a game.

He could learn this game, too. 

He stormed up to his room without having to be asked twice. He didn't care. All his toys were still in his room, and if he didn't have anybody to play with, he'd play by himself.

He pulled out his knights and began setting them up. He had yet to share his knights with Viserys; they were too special to share. Robert had had them custom-made in Gulltown. They were painted with all the sigils of the great houses, but most of them were Baratheon men. Renly liked the colors, though after recent events he left the black-clad Targaryens and the green Tyrells in the box.

There were enough others to have fun. In his games, House Baratheon was in charge, leading the other men in three divisions that he liked to imagine were commanded by Robert, Stannis, and himself.

This did not help his missing them, though. That was an ache that seemed to come and go—sometimes, if he got caught up in playing with the others, he would forget about it, which would make him even more ashamed when he remembered it again, when he went to bed without a story. Then he would feel guilty for not having missed Robert and Stannis more, for only missing them when he had to put himself to bed.

He picked up one of the yellow-and-black painted men and studied his painted face, trying to picture Robert's. He found he couldn't, not the details. It kept shifting into Stannis'. But he could remember the feel of him, his laugh, his strong arms.

A tear slipped from his eyes and ran down his nose. He wiped it away, just as his bedroom door opened. 

Renly jumped, clutching his knight to his chest.

Ser Alliser seemed to fill the doorway. "Ser Cyrian wants you, boy. It'll be a beating for you."

Renly carefully set the knight down and shuffled across the room. It was better to go along with it than to argue. Ser Cyrian's punishments weren't much to worry about. He knew that from when he'd been punished in Viserys' stead, for stealing the lemon cakes. 

It still hurt to see Ser Cyrian in Stannis' solar, which was slowly losing everything that had made it Stannis'. He'd even rearranged the chairs and turned the desk. He was facing the window, his hands behind his back. "Do you know why you're here, Renly?"

"I hit Prince Viserys," he mumbled. He still didn't think he regretted it, but he knew enough about grownups to know he ought to pretend he did. 

"And you know that you must be punished for it?"

Renly nodded. "Yes, ser." 

Ser Cyrian crossed the room to the hook where the switch hung. 

"Allow me," Ser Alliser said. Renly whipped around. He knew he didn't want Ser Alliser doing it. Ser Cyrian had a steady hand; Ser Alliser was unpredictable. "The punishment for laying hands on one of the royal family should be delivered by a member of the Kingsguard."

Ser Cyrian gave Ser Alliser a sharp look. "A noble idea, ser, but I am Storm's End's castellan. Thus, it is my responsibility to carry out the boy's punishment."

Renly looked back at Ser Alliser. His hawk eyes were trained on Ser Cyrian fiercely. "I trust you will be able to beat the fight out of him then?"

 _They won't beat the fight out of me_ , Renly thought. _Especially not the likes of you._

But Ser Alliser didn't answer him. "Would that it won't come to that," was all he said as he took the switch down. 

Renly bent over without being asked. 

"Three strokes," Ser Cyrian said, and Renly relaxed. "For every time you hit the prince."

Renly didn't know how many times that had been. More than three. 

He gritted his teeth through twelve strokes. He still wasn't sorry. Each time Ser Cyrian started another set, Renly remembered how good it had felt to hit Viserys. Even though his legs hurt as he went back to his room, he still wasn't sorry. Viserys had deserved every one.

Renly settled down gingerly to resume playing with his knights. He was just getting to the good part of the war, the part where Robert slew Prince Rhaegar with his warhammer when he heard the door open again.

“Renly? I want you to know that I forgive y—"

Renly peeped over the bed. Viserys stood in the doorway, staring at him in shock.

“Renly! Where did you get those?" The words came out in such a steady stream Renly could not answer. "You’re doing it wrong. Dragons are stronger than stags. That knight couldn’t beat all those others. You stupid child! Are you trying to wake the dragon?”

“My lord prince." What did one say to a madman? Renly felt a chill shoot down his spine, as he remembered what he'd been told about Rickard Stark confronting the Mad King. _He burned._  
  
For what seemed like ages, Viserys didn't move. He was breathing heavily, his arms at his sides. Renly's hands shook as he gripped the knight and he suddenly felt foolish for thinking he could take his toys out, especially on a day like today. 

"I think you need a new room," Viserys said.

Renly's response was instinctually angry. "But this is _my_ room!" 

“No, it’s not. Not anymore." Viserys was advancing on him and Renly felt his feet shuffle backwards in response. "This is a room for a lord’s son. You’re worthless traitor-kin. You’re nothing, Renly. You don’t deserve a room like this. I will put you somewhere else."

Suddenly, Viserys' hand shot out and seized Renly by the arm. He pulled him to the door and Renly was forced to follow, tripping on the rug as he went. His knight slipped from his hand and clattered to the rushes. 

Viserys dragged him through the corridor and down the stairs. They met Maester Cressen coming up.

"Hello again, my lord prince." Maester Cressen bowed his head. "Hello, Renly. What are you two off to then?"

"Renly needs a new room," Viserys said. "Where are the dungeons?"

Something passed over Maester Cressen's face. Renly wasn't sure what to make of it, not when he knew he had taken the Targaryens' side. "You don't want to put him in the dungeons, my lord prince. The storm cells are no place for our friends."

"He isn't my friend. He has been keeping secrets from me. He is a traitor."

"His brothers were traitors." Maester Cressen's voice was gentle but each word was like another knife in his back. "Renly is a little boy, younger than you, who knew no better. You must teach him how to behave."

Viserys thought for a moment. "Then I will put him in here." He pulled Renly the rest of the way down the stairs and rounded the corner. There, set into the wall was a door. Renly knew it was just a broom closet. Surely they couldn't make him sleep in there? "This is the perfect place for him. Isn't it, Renly?"

Renly said nothing. He was fighting the fury that was threatening to boil over inside him. 

Viserys pinched his arm. "It's the perfect place for you. Isn't it?"

"It'stheperfectplaceforme," he muttered through his teeth.

"Louder."

Renly swallowed hard and bit out each word very carefully. "It's the perfect place for me."

Viserys smiled. "Now we must move your things."

Renly stalked back up the stairs, Viserys at his side. _I can endure this_ , he thought. _Another indignity done Storm's End._  
  
Viserys went first to Renly's wardrobe and began pulling out his clothes. "These are too small," he said. "Take those downstairs." 

Renly began gathering up an armful of clothes. He could say nothing. If he said something, they would do worse. __  
  
When he reached for his gold and black cloak, the one he wore when important visitors came to Storm's End, Viserys stepped on it. "You can't have that.”

Renly yanked on it, hearing it begin to tear under Viserys' boot. 

"Renly," he said sternly.

Renly jerked his head up, only to be met by a slap.

"You can have this," Viserys said dismissively. He threw an old green cloak in Renly's face. He hadn't worn that one since before the siege. There was no way it could fit now. 

He stalked downstairs with his armload of clothes and dumped them in the closet. It was tiny. He turned and charged back up the stairs, his heart pounding with rage in his chest. 

Viserys was now in his toybox. 

"I can't sleep in there," Renly told him. "There's no bed."

"You may have your mattress," Viserys said dismissively. He threw one of Renly's toy horses on the rushes, like it was nothing. 

Renly hauled the mattress from the bedframe. He slipped under its weight and went down to his knees. 

That was when he spotted Robert's knife. He had forgotten he'd hidden it under there. Quickly, before Viserys could spot him, he reached out and grabbed it. 

With each stair Renly had to pull his mattress down, the higher his fury rose. He could not let them break him. Stannis had not broken during the siege and this would not break Renly. 

By the time he was finished, all he had in his closet were his mattress, his clothes, his blocks, and his old baby blanket, the only things Viserys had left to him from his toybox. 

He threw himself down on his mattress and grabbed his blanket. He would not cry. He was as immovable as Storm's End itself. Still, he could not help a few sobs escaping. 

He had lain there a while when he heard the door open again. He sat up, trying to disguise the fact that he'd been crying. 

“My lord prince?” 

That was when he noticed Patchface was standing behind Viserys. Viserys was smiling. How had he known? “I thought you might get lonely, so I brought Patchface.”

“No, that’s all right. I don’t want him in here.” His voice was shaking. He wasn't _really_ scared of Patchface, not like when he'd been little and his very presence would send him screaming to hide in Maester Cressen's robes.

“Too bad.”

The next thing he knew, Patchface was coming toward him. Renly screamed and dove into a corner. 

“Oh ho, oh ho, I know, I know. The dragon flies high in the sky, not down below, oh ho, oh ho.”

Renly shut his eyes and buried his face in his blanket. They wouldn't break him. They couldn't break him. He still had his fury.


	17. Stannis VII

Stannis woke with a start, having nearly forgotten where he was. He blinked in the gray predawn light as the unfamiliar shapes resolved themselves into the contents of Davos' quarters. It seemed he had passed the night on the floor, and he remembered now that he had offered Davos the rocking chair. He pushed himself up and saw the smuggler just where he'd left him, head listing to one side, mouth open, fast asleep. He took this opportunity to watch him, wondering how Davos would look were he sleeping not in the chair, but in the bed at Stannis' side. 

He rubbed his face, trying to push those thoughts away. They were inappropriate anywhere, much less in a child's sickroom. 

That was when he became conscious of being watched. A pair of green eyes blinked at him from the bed.

"You look better," he said, turning to Maric. "How do you feel?"

"Better. I'm hungry." The little boy squirmed with pent-up energy. " _Really_ hungry."

Stannis got to his feet. "Then I shall get you some breakfast." Once out of the still staleness of the sickroom, Stannis breathed deeply. He remembered his vow of a few days before. He had pledged himself in service to the gods, but how did one go about doing that? Mere weeks ago, Stannis had been all but certain they were not worth his time, if they existed at all. He frowned. Perhaps the answer would come to him as suddenly as knowledge was bestowed from the heavens in the pages of the _Seven-Pointed Star_. He would simply have to wait until then.

"How is the little one?" Byren asked when Stannis entered the kitchen. Most of the men were still abed, but Byren always got an early start, which Stannis appreciated when his inability to sleep forced him from his bed at an early hour. He may have been underfoot in his time working in the kitchen, but Byren was a good companion and respectful of Stannis' silence.

"Much better. The fever has passed, though it will take some time before he is rid of the cough, and I still must test him for grayscale." Stannis selected a reasonably clean-looking knife from the chopping block and tucked it into his belt. "He has asked for breakfast."

"Then breakfast he shall have. You and the captain, too." Byren began clattering plates about. "When did you sleep last?"

"I slept much of the night. Davos and I both did." He held out his hands for the tray and Byren balanced it on them. 

"You should have a reward, brave ser, for rescuing our Maric."

"I need no reward but the child's health."

Byren's eyes twinkled. "And we will thank the gods for that, then."

Stannis' lips curled instinctively, but he spoke the words, trying to make them genuine. "Yes. I have been thanking the gods since I pulled him from the water."

When he returned to Davos' cabin, Stannis found Maric out of bed, crouched before a toy ship that had been left on the floor. "Is that broth?" he asked suspiciously. 

"Hardtack and salt fish." Stannis set the plate before him. "Can you feed yourself?"

"Yes." Maric took a forkful of fish. "But you need to put my biscuit in water, Father always does."

Stannis did as instructed. He didn't notice Davos had awakened until he was standing next to them.

"You seem to be better," he said with a smile.

Maric nodded and reached for his soaked biscuit. "Lyonel does it good," he observed. "You make it too soft, Father."

Davos shot Stannis an amused look. "Then we will have to add it to his list of duties."

Stannis allowed himself a small smile, though Davos' attention filled him with an uncomfortable warmth. "His appetite seems to have returned."

Hearing this, Maric eyed Stannis and Davos' breakfasts hungrily. "Can I have some more?"

"Only a little, sweetling," Davos said, spooning some of his beans onto Maric's plate. "We don't want you to get a bellyache on top of your cough."

To his credit, Maric managed a few more bites before he started coughing again. It was not quite as violent as previously and he chattered happily as Stannis and Davos ate. It was the sort of unending childish chatter that Stannis had often ignored from Renly, but Maric made him feel a sense of levity. Perhaps it was how close the boy had come to death, or perhaps he simply missed his brother. _I can only hope Renly is this resilient if he must grow up without protectors._

He still did not dare hope that what Davos had promised would come to pass. It was only right that he should be the one to raise Renly; after they had lost their parents and Robert, they should not have been separated, but so much lay between them and a return to Westeros, namely their survival of whatever business lay in the east.

Then, a sudden thought occurred to him, for he had just realized he did not know the answer.

"What cargo are you taking on at the end of this voyage?" he asked Davos.

"I don't know." Davos took a bite of saltfish. "Magister Illyrio only gave me the coin and a letter to give the buyer so that he would give me the cargo."

Stannis pressed his lips together. "No doubt it is something illegal." Every time he felt complacent and comfortable aboard the _Marya_ , the reminder that it was a smuggler's ship was increasingly unpleasant. _And what do the Seven think of that?  
_   
Davos smirked. "No doubt." There was a teasing light dancing in his eyes. It was not Robert's cruel spark, but something that sent Stannis' stomach into knots. He did not realize he'd been looking so intently at Davos until Maric spoke.

"Can I go up on deck?"

"Not today," Davos said. He glanced at Stannis. "We need to see how you fare."

"Can Matthos come play?"

"No," Stannis said. Maric's lower lip jutted out, so he hastily added, "We need to make sure you are free of greyscale." Maric gave him a blank look. "Let me see your hand." He withdrew the knife from his belt.

Maric burst into tears and flung himself at Davos' chest. Stannis turned to Davos. "I am trying to save his life," he muttered.

"I know," Davos said, seeming caught between amusement and exasperation. "But you might have chosen a smaller knife." He leaned over Maric, stroking his hair. "Sweetling, he's not going to hurt you. He only needs to check the feeling in your fingers and toes."

"Here," Stannis said, flipping the knife around. "I will show you."

Maric watched warily, as Stannis dug the tip of the knife into the thumb of his right hand.

"See?" Davos said encouragingly. "He doesn't cry."

Maric thrust out his hand. Stannis pricked each finger, as gently as he dared. "Do you feel that?"

Maric nodded.

"Now for the other hand."

Maric did not make another sound as Stannis pricked each finger and toe. "There," he said. "We must do that each day."

"Why?" Maric was examining his fingers.

Stannis glanced at Davos. He did not want to scare the child unduly, but he didn't know how to communicate the situation to a four-year-old. Maric was looking at him with trusting eyes. So was Davos. Stannis swallowed hard. He had not been anticipating the pressure.

"So that we can be sure you do not develop greyscale. It is a sickness worse than your cough, and we do not want you to get it." He did not think it wise to mention death for he could not bear the thought of little Maric suffering and dying and did not want to plant the worry in the child's mind. It must already be in the father's and he glanced at Davos. "You cannot go out to play until we are sure you do not have it. If you did, you might pass it to others, your brothers, the men."

Maric frowned. "Will I pass it to you and Father?"

Stannis sighed, wishing he had some of Davos' natural comfort. Why wasn't he saying anything? He was the father. "You might, but that is a risk we take in looking after you. That is our duty; yours is to get better."

"All right, Lyonel," Maric said. "I'll do what you say."

Stannis patted him on the head. "Good lad."

They passed another day in this fashion before Stannis deemed Maric safe to mix with the other children. Davos carried him up on deck so that he might have some fresh air.

There was no need for Stannis to linger with them, but he did. He found he no longer wished to be alone. Part of that was the way his thoughts leaned when he had nothing to occupy his mind. 

_I should not be here_ , he thought, as he sat beside Davos, watching Maric and Matthos play on the deck with their toys. Matthos seemed grateful enough for the company to not mind that Maric could not run and jump. _I need guidance. I need a septon._

But he knew he had never liked what septons had to say and would like even less what they would have to say about Davos. He glanced over at him. He was watching his sons fondly, the sea breeze lifting his long hair. Stannis imagined running his hands through it. He looked away.

"Stannis?" 

He jumped. "Yes?" He was almost certain his voice was cracking.

"I want to thank you. You did not have to do any of that."

"Stop saying that. I wanted to." Davos was studying him. As much as it made him uncomfortable, Stannis fought not to flinch under his gaze. "And remember what I said about that name."

"I will not call you Lyonel. It is not your name." Davos' eyes had not left Stannis'. Stannis found he had forgotten how to breathe. "No one on this ship will turn you in. The only ones who can hear us now are the children and they are only paying attention to their menagerie."

That reminder seemed to have a deeper meaning that made Stannis squirm. "Sometimes… sometimes I think you may be the last person to call me by my true name. Sometimes I wonder why I ever started this farce."

"Well, saving your life is more than worth the farce to me." 

Stannis leaned back on his hands, wishing he could be rid of the ache in his chest. "My life, such as it is."

Davos smiled. "And what is your life?"

"That of a man unmoored."

"All men come unmoored from time to time." Davos sighed heavily. "Seven only know I have been there myself. But a man unmoored need only be towed back in before he drifts out to sea."

"I fear I already am at sea."

Davos covered Stannis' hand with his own. "Then we will be at sea together, and perhaps together, we may find land again."

Stannis could not move. The warm weight of Davos' hand on his was the most reassuring thing he had ever felt in his life. He swallowed hard. 

"Stannis," Davos said. "May I—" 

He wasn't able to finish what he was about to say. Maric began coughing and Davos pushed himself to his feet.

"Come on, sweetling," he said, scooping Maric up and giving Stannis an apologetic look. "That's enough fresh air."

Matthos followed them below, but Stannis did not think he'd had quite enough fresh air himself. He could have gone with the family, but he hoped an absence from Davos would relieve, if temporarily, the ache in his chest. 

Nor did he want to go to the mess. He knew the men would be gathering there, drinking and talking. It was the sort of place Lyonel Storm ought to be, keeping up his pretense, but Stannis was not Lyonel Storm. He was tired of being someone he wasn't, and Davos' words lingered in his ears.

If he could not be with the men, he decided he might as well do the job he had accepted weeks ago, that of lookout. He scaled the rigging, pleased to find he did so more easily than he had upon his arrival on board. It was the sea air if his grandfather Estermont was to be believed, but Stannis supposed it to be regular, filling meals, too. He was gaining weight, more noticeably than he had when he had been with Golden Company.

The crow's nest was nicely removed from the rest of the ship. He did not have to fear being invited to join in the drinking and the stories, nor did he have to fear Davos.

He remained as the sun set in the west and the moon rose. It was full, though clouds scudded across its face. He thought of Renly, home at Storm's End, safe in his bed. Did he ever think of Stannis? 

He examined his shortened fingers in the light of the full moon. Even his hand no longer bothered him. Perhaps he had come to accept the farce that was his life.

It was peaceful here, on the dark sea. Stannis closed his eyes, feeling the rise and fall of the ship. Would he stay, if given the opportunity? He tried to imagine what it would be like to spend his life at sea. What of Renly, if he could get him back? Surely he could not raise a child on a ship.

 _Davos does it_ , he reminded himself. _Davos does it well. The boys would be good companions for Renly.  
_   
And what did it matter? He could not stay; if there was any hope of reclaiming what was his, that was what he needed to put his mind to. Not ridiculous fantasies about a common smuggler.

And could it truly be called a fantasy if he was sure Davos would have kissed him? _If he had kissed me, I would have kissed him back._

And then, because he was here, all alone in the dark, Stannis let his mind run with the prospect of Davos' lips, Davos' hands, Davos' steady touch.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a raindrop hitting his forehead. He scanned the sky. The moon had become obscured by clouds and the wind was beginning to pick up. He squinted into the darkness, trying to get a sense of the seas ahead. They looked choppy and just as he noticed this, they passed into a sheet of rain, drenching him. Lightning flashed ahead, momentarily illuminating the swells around them. He knew he had to get down.

Stannis swung himself out of the basket and grabbed the rigging. It was already slick from the rain and his shortened right fingers struggled for purchase. In the end, he dragged himself down with one arm hooked around the rope. He was out of breath by the time he reached the deck, which was beginning to pitch beneath his feet. A wave crashed over the side, nearly taking him off his feet as he fought his way to the hatch and then through it.

"Stannis!"

Stannis turned in fighting to close the hatch and secure it. Davos stood in the corridor, one hand on the wall, the other supporting Maric on his hip. Matthos was clinging to the hem of Davos' shirt.

"Were you out there?" Davos' brows knit in concern. "What were you doing?"

"In the crow's nest." Stannis took a deep breath. "I am only sorry I didn't notice the storm earlier."

Davos shook his head. "Don't worry. Come. You must get dry."

Stannis followed Davos down the corridor, fighting against the pitch of the ship. There was a particularly deep swell and the ship dropped, sending Davos stumbling back into Stannis. He seized his shoulders, holding him up until he'd recovered his legs. When Davos stepped forward to open the door, Stannis missed him.   
_  
He would have kissed me_ , he reminded himself. This time, the thought sent a strange anticipation crackling through him, which raised the hairs on the back of his neck. If Davos was willing, it remained only to Stannis to decide. _  
_  
In Davos' quarters, Dale and Allard were waiting, sitting on the floor by the wall, pillows, blankets, and toys strewn about them. The family seemed to have settled in for the night.

Davos set Maric down and joined his children. "Best to spend storms like this," he said. "My philosophy is if we aren't going to sleep, we might as well pass the time together. Dale, will you get a towel?"

Stannis accepted it and set to drying himself off.

"Tell us a story, Lyonel!" Matthos said eagerly.

Stannis lowered the towel from his head, ready with the protest that he knew no stories. Then, one came to mind, one that his lord father had always told him and Robert on such nights. 

Lord Steffon would take one of his sons on each knee, lean back on the bench and begin with, "Do you know the story of how Storm's End was built?"

Stannis and Robert had always insisted that, yes, they knew, but the answer Stannis got from the lowborn family before him was five blank stares.

Stannis sat, pushing his damp hair off his forehead. "Well, then, I shall tell it. It was a night such as this and the winds were howling…"

His father's words came to him easily, and even though Stannis never fancied himself his father's equal in oratory, he found himself matching his tone as the ship pitched and the thunder rumbled. It was the perfect night for the tale of Durran's defiance. The children were enraptured; even Davos was leaning forward around Maric in his lap. 

Stannis felt a satisfied warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. Here, on the storm-tossed sea, he could feel his connection to the Storm Kings of old more keenly than ever. 

And Davos was smiling at him. That was perhaps the greatest thing of all.


	18. Davos V

Davos' eyes blinked open to bright sunlight. The sea was calm, and they had not sunk in the night. He breathed a sigh of relief at that and shifted Maric in his lap. The uncertainty of life at sea was the thing he regretted most about his decision to raise his family aboard ship, but luckily, he had not had cause to confront it too often. And the calm was almost always worth the storm.

He didn't remember falling asleep; he only remembered the children being carried off by Stannis' voice before the lordling himself had fallen into a quiet slumber at Davos' side. Davos had not been so lucky; he never slept during storms, spending the night watching the children. Somehow, though, he'd fallen asleep, right beside Stannis, whose head was now listing toward Davos' shoulder. 

_I should have kissed him yesterday_ , he thought. 

Stannis, too, seemed to just be waking. His eyelids fluttered, just as Davos lifted his head. Their eyes met, and Davos smiled. Stannis smiled back, a rare treat in the crooked lift of his mouth. With all the children asleep around them, it seemed almost as though there was no one else awake in the world. It was a pleasant, warm, comfortable feeling, and Davos was again grateful at his good fortune, to have someone who tolerated his children and might want to share his life. 

"We seem to have weathered the storm," Stannis said softly, interrupting Davos' thoughts. He shifted against the wall and his hand brushed Davos'. There was a confidence in his eyes that set Davos' heart beating faster. __  
  
Davos waited a moment before laying his little finger over the back of Stannis' right hand. Stannis glanced down at it before taking Davos' hand fully in his. Davos laced his fingers in with Stannis' shortened ones and closed his eyes as relief flooded his chest. Perhaps they could have this. Davos did not quite know what shape it might take, but with Stannis' hand in his, he felt good enough for anything.

He had forgotten what it was like to be so close to another adult. He had a sudden _awareness_ of Stannis' body next to his, the long lines, the broadness of his shoulders and he let his half-awake mind play through a hazy imagined exploration of it.

He opened his eyes again to find Stannis staring at him. There was a boldness in the blue eyes Davos had not yet seen before. He squeezed Davos' hand. Davos' heart was racing. Why was he acting like a shy, clumsy youth? How had Stannis so unmanned him?

"Is this how you spend every storm?" he asked quietly. His short fingers traced patterns on Davos' palm. 

"Aye. Otherwise they get frightened and end up with me anyway. And down here, no one falls out of bed." He paused. "And if everyone comes, it lets Dale save face. He certainly isn't scared."

"Of course not." Stannis' mouth twitched. "I appreciate your having me." 

It sounded stiff, like something said when one was invited for dinner. Davos smiled. "Of course you're welcome, Stannis." He had noticed what saying his name did to the man, and he reached up to cup his cheek, palm rubbing against Stannis' stubble. "You are welcome for as long as you choose to be here."

Stannis heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Davos. It is good not to be alone." 

"Is the storm over?" Matthos asked sleepily. He pushed himself up from where he'd been lying at Davos' feet. 

"Yes." Stannis rose to pull the curtain aside. "The sea is calm; the sun is shining."

Davos nudged Maric awake; in his good mood, he allowed him to twine his arms around his neck, and he stood with him on his hip. "Then we must arise and survey the damage. Breakfast first."

Davos' own breakfast was hurried, though he left the children to linger with Stannis. Merrett was already on deck when he climbed out of the hatch, hands on his hips, and Davos breathed a sigh of relief that it was not worse. Seaweed and other debris coated the deck, but his good little ship was otherwise intact.

"Captain!" Merrett strode toward him.

"Merrett, how bad is it?"

"No structural damage, thank the Smith." Merritt pushed his sweaty red hair off his forehead. The eastern sun was already relentless and it was easy to forget it was winter. "Sail's torn, though. Lucky we don't depend on it."

Davos crossed his arms over his chest. "Show me."

As they crossed the deck, Davos saw Stannis emerge from below with the children, armed with mops, brooms, and dustpans. They began to clear away the debris on deck. Davos watched Stannis fork a jellyfish over the railing with his broom handle before Allard could touch it.

"Captain?"

Davos shook his head. The main sail had been rent by the wind. It would not be a difficult repair, but it would require them to stop.

Davos and Merrett set some men to bringing down the sail, and then he went to inform the oarsmen. He could only hope they had not been blown off course by too far.

The day after a storm was always a busy one and he was glad Stannis kept the boys occupied, for it was evening by the time Davos returned to his quarters. He found the boys clustered around the map with Stannis.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I thought I might show them where we are headed." Stannis pushed the candle closer to the dip on the map Davos knew to be Slaver's Bay. "We," he said, stabbing his finger at the middle of the ocean, "are around here. If your father should agree?"

"Aye, that seems so. The stars tell me we are still headed the right direction." Davos studied the map. "What is this called?" He pointed to a landmass near the mouth of Slaver's Bay.

Stannis leaned in to read the writing. "The Isle of Cedars."

"You can read writing, Lyonel?" Dale asked, leaning over the map, as though that would make the scratches there turn into something that made sense.

"Yes," Stannis answered. He repeated the island's name slowly, running his finger over each word in turn. "Isle. Of. Cedars." 

Dale looked fascinated.

"What else does it say?" Allard asked.

There was a good deal of writing in the margins. Stannis frowned. "A queer place. Stay only briefly and if you must. The ruins are haunted." Stannis snorted and stood up. "Foolishness and superstition."

Davos smiled. "Sailors are superstitious, remember?"

"Aye." Stannis ran a hand through his hair. "But do tell me you don't believe in ghosts."

"Ghosts, Father?" Maric asked. Even Dale looked concerned.

"I do not believe in ghosts," Davos said firmly. The very idea of a haunted island was ridiculous.

Stannis nodded his approval. "No doubt the mapmakers had some purpose in wanting to scare travelers away from the island. It seems like the sort of place we can stop and rest for a time, and make our repairs." 

"Certainly," Davos said. "Just as certainly as after supper comes bedtime."

There was some general grumbling and Davos herded the boys off to bed. When he returned to his own quarters, Stannis was still there, as he had hoped.

"Thank you for your help today," Davos said. "I could not have minded them and also got done all that needed doing."

Stannis shrugged. He was studying the map again. "It's the least I can do, after I failed to sight the storm."

"You could not have stopped it," Davos reminded him. He stepped forward and put a hand on Stannis' shoulder. 

"Aye. There is much I had not the power to stop." He turned then and looked down at Davos pointedly. He could see all of it click together in Stannis' mind—that they were alone, that the children were in bed. There were no obstacles ahead of them now.

He paused and licked his lips. Davos waited patiently. They had all the time in the world now, and he was beginning to tire of interruptions. 

"Davos, I would like to kiss you. I would have liked to kiss you this morning, but I could not. But I would like to do it now."

Davos smiled, charmed by this. "Of course you can, Stannis. I would like that very much."

He did not have to wait long. Stannis' kiss was chaste, barely more than a gentle press, lips only slightly parted. He drew back very soon after, though Davos was not disappointed. There would be time. Time to draw Stannis out, let him grow comfortable with kisses, let him grow comfortable in bed.

For now, Davos quite liked these shy, clumsy kisses, and they passed a good amount of time at them before they retired. He could only hope that Stannis went to his bed as satisfied as Davos went to his. 

**

Davos was glad to be awakened early by the news that land had been sighted, for it meant he could not lie abed and think of Stannis. Allard and Matthos dragged him up on deck, where Stannis already stood with Dale and Maric. It was not lost on Davos how tightly Stannis clung to Maric's hand, even as he tried to climb the railing to see the small strip on the horizon.

"Good morning," he said, coming up close to Stannis' side. For once, he did not pull away. This gave Davos even more to look forward to. "Is this your mysterious island I see in the distance?"

Stannis nodded, shading his eyes from the sun. "We should reach it after noon, I should say." 

Davos smiled. "And I should say you are right. We will make a sailor of you yet." 

Stannis returned the smile.

"Are we spending the night there, Father?" Dale asked.

Davos nodded. It would be better than spending a night on the ship, and it would be good to give the boys the camping experience. They did not know how to live off the land or fend from themselves. All they knew was life aboard ship, and the men would be happy to have the break, as well. 

The children strayed little from the railing as the island grew nearer, and Stannis stayed watchful, discouraging them from climbing with a firm hand. 

When they at last reached it, Davos rowed his family and Stannis ashore. They made camp on the beach, far from where the men had settled. This would let them have whatever revelry they wanted, while leaving a quiet place for the children. Even though he knew Stannis rarely spent time with the men, he was glad he had chosen to come with Davos and his boys.

"I came so that you might have a protector," Stannis told him as they were unloading the boat, as though he felt compelled to deny any other motive.

"And what would you protect us from here?"

Stannis paused, swinging a bag over his shoulder. "Danger," he said, before plodding his way up the sand. 

_Perhaps a change in scenery will be good for him_ , he thought, his mind turning to the possibilities of what they might get up to after the children fell asleep.

They walked until they found a clear stretch of beach, and the children played while Davos and Stannis set up camp. After a while, Davos noticed Maric had dropped his stick and was crouched in the sand, intently watching the treeline.

"What's there, sweetling?"

" _Something_."

Dale laughed. "Ghosts?"

"There is no such thing," Stannis cut in.

"Why don't you boys gather some wood?" Davos suggested. "We shall need a cook-fire."

The boys dispersed and Stannis and Davos returned to their unpacking until they were interrupted by a scream. Matthos and Maric came hurtling toward them. They looked more surprised than frightened, though they pounced on Davos with enough force to nearly knock him down.

"What happened?" he asked, wrapping his arms around them.

"That," Dale reported, approaching, his arms full of wood. A wild boar was shuffling along the treeline, paying the intruders no mind.

"Well, then." Stannis rose. "It seems our supper has arrived. Come, Dale. I'm going to teach you to hunt."

Davos watched them busy themselves making spears. "My brother was a great huntsman," Stannis was telling Dale. "I never relished the sport, but I daresay I am competent enough to secure us some dinner." He stood, hefting the spear on his shoulder. "The animal cannot have gone far."

Stannis and Dale strode off into the woods and Davos returned to constructing a firepit. He would need it if they really did return with meat.

And so it was, a couple of hours later when they came tramping out of the woods, a dead pig borne between them. Dale was dirty, sweaty, and his hair stuck out in a hundred different directions, but he was glowing with pride and gazing up at Stannis in admiration.

"Look, Father!" he cried. "Look what we've got!"

The other boys flocked to their oldest brother.

"How did you get him?"

"Did he put up a fight?"

"Not much," Dale said dismissively. He sat down on a log next to the fire. "Between us, we managed to take him down."

Davos glanced over to where Stannis had dragged their quarry. He had his knife out and was beginning to butcher it. There was a little smile on his face that Davos suspected he didn't think anyone else could see.

Soon, there was a fire crackling merrily in the space Davos had made and the scent of roast pork filled the air. Davos tried to remember the last time the boys had had fresh meat. They would have to rectify that. One had no choice aboard ship, but perhaps with Stannis accompanying them, Davos would be more willing to take the children somewhere in port for a meal.

As darkness fell, Davos found himself wishing for his flute, a compulsion he had not had in years. Dale and Stannis were deep in conversation about their hunt, with Allard listening raptly.

Maric was playing with a stick, drawing in the sand. Suddenly, Dale piped up, "Can you write in the sand?"

Stannis frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Can you, er, could you show me my name?" Dale looked sheepish, but Stannis rose.

"Certainly." He picked up a stick and there, beside the fire, made four letters.

DALE.

"That is you." He made a crude figure of a boy beside it. Then he made ones of three progressively smaller boys, next to which he wrote respectively, ALLARD, MATTHOS, and MARIC. Then he made two men, one short, one tall, and wrote DAVOS and STANNIS.

"Each of you," he said, tapping the letters with his stick, "and then your father and myself."

"This is Lyonel?" Dale asked, studying the letters STANNIS.

Stannis looked suddenly away, too fast for the children to notice, but Davos saw. "Yes. That says Lyonel. Here." He quickly scratched out the letters with his boot. "You do not need my name. Here is 'Father.'"

"Father," said Dale slowly. He stared at the names. "Mathos and Maric start with the same letter? They sound the same."

"Aye, they do. And Davos and Dale."

"Of course!" Dale touched the letters of his name with his own stick, moving it through the grooves.

Stannis paused. "Would you like to learn to read, Dale?"

Dale shrugged, not taking his eyes from the letters. "No. What use is reading to a sailor? I was just curious."

"I think," Davos said, "that we should think about going to bed."

They laid out their bedrolls by the fire, which Davos fed with fresh wood.

"That should keep us safe from any wandering animals."

"I'll keep watch." Stannis settled in by the fire, his knife at his side.

"No," Davos said. "The fire will keep us safe. There is no one else on this island but us, and there are no predators."

"Aye," Stannis agreed reluctantly. He laid the knife by his bedroll and slid into it, his eagerness betraying his true exhaustion. There would be time for kissing later.

"Story?" asked Maric.

He was tucked in next to Davos and would surely be fast asleep before a story was finished. Still, Davos searched for one. "Once upon a time there was a bear," he began, and as sleep began to overtake him, the familiar words left his mouth without any thought. As expected, Maric was asleep first, and Davos listened for each boy's breathing to even. At last, it was only Stannis he heard shifting before he, too, stilled and let out a snore. As he at last let sleep take him, Davos thought that he could not remember the last time he'd been so content.


	19. Renly VII

Renly didn't know how long Patchface had been left in the closet with him, but by the time he woke up, still curled up under his blanket, the fool was gone, and Maester Cressen was bending over him.

Renly sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. His shoulders hurt from sleeping on the floor, but he wasn't going to let it show. Maester Cressen served Viserys now. Renly would not class him an enemy, but he also couldn't be considered an ally. 

"Ser Cyrian has asked for you," he said.

Renly rose and tried to compose himself. He was not sorry for any of what he had done. As far as he was concerned, Robert's rebellion had not ended. 

"How are you, Renly?" Maester Cressen asked as they climbed the stairs to Ser Cyrian's solar. 

Renly made no answer. 

Maester Cressen sighed. He put his hand on Renly's shoulder and Renly pulled away from him as tears blurred his vision. How could he forget all those years of service to House Baratheon? 

He had served their lord father well and had taught Robert, Stannis, and Renly everything they knew. And then there were those late nights during the siege, when Renly was supposed to be in bed, that Maester Cressen had gone to Stannis in his solar and sat up with him. 

How could he claim to be a neutral maester of the Citadel after all that?

Ser Cyrian was sitting at his desk and Renly climbed into the chair across from it. He was uncomfortably reminded of Mace Tyrell, on that first morning after Storm's End had fallen.

"Good morning, Renly."

Renly suppressed the urge to scowl. He remembered what he'd realized about it all being a game. Perhaps he could play it by going along with them. Perhaps he could win it. "Good morning, Ser Cyrian."

Ser Cyrian smiled. "I trust you have had a lot of time to think?"

"Yes, ser. I ought not to have hit Prince Viserys." _Because it got me a beating and put in the closet._

__Ser Cyrian nodded. "I know it must hurt to have lost your brothers, but they brought this on themselves. The Crown holds none of that against you, so long as your loyalty remains to House Targaryen."

"It does," Renly said. "I want to be a knight and fight alongside Prince Viserys." It was technically true—he did want to be a knight, and when he fought on the same field of battle as Viserys, he would slay him. 

Ser Cyrian nodded approvingly. "That door is still open to you. Be sure you don't allow it to close."

"I won't," Renly said confidently. If he didn't go along with them, he wouldn't be in a position to help Stannis when he came back.

It didn't mean he had to mean it.

**

Renly was waiting in a tree when Beric arrived at their spot in the godswood.

"Up here!" he called, waving down at him.

Beric looked up, a serious expression on his face. "We have to talk, Renly." 

Renly hesitated, swinging his legs. Deep down, he thought he knew what Beric had to say, and he didn't want to hear it. "You come up here."

Beric sighed. "Renly."

Renly slid off his branch and scrambled down the trunk. There was a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could not make go away. He did not want to lose his only friend.

Beric took a deep breath. He seemed to be steeling himself up for something. "I can't play with you anymore."

Even though he knew it was coming, Renly still felt like someone had pulled a rug out from under him. "Why?" he cried, running over to Beric. "Because of Alyn? You'll never be a sore winner like he was." They had played lots of games and he knew Beric was always a good winner and a good loser.

Beric shook his head. "It's not that. It's not just that. The prince is…" He glanced over his shoulder. "You can never tell what he's going to do."

_He's afraid of Viserys_ , Renly realized. Beric, who wasn't afraid to climb all the way to the top of the tree, who was bigger than Viserys, was afraid of him.

"My family can't lose Blackhaven," he said seriously. "You understand that, don't you, Renly?"

Renly tried to imagine how it would be were their positions reversed. If the Baratheons could be kicked out of Storm's End for Renly's bad behavior, he would be on his best.

_We did lose Storm's End_ , he thought. _I wouldn't wish that on anyone.  
_  
Renly nodded. "I understand."

Beric gave him a long, searching look before turning and running off through the wood. Renly stayed in his clearing alone for a very long time.

**

He laid low for the next few weeks, remembering what he'd decided about playing the game. He played with Viserys and the other boys, and everybody went along with exactly what Viserys wanted to do. _Cowards_ , Renly thought bitterly when he looked at them. They were cowards, each and every one of them. And he was a coward, too, to have stood by while Storm's End was taken from them. Stannis had told him to be brave, but that was hard when you were only six. All he could do was wait until he was grown.

And so, he threw himself into the things he would need to know as a man grown. He paid attention in lessons and worked hard for Ser Alliser. And he ate everything in sight. Maybe he would grow soon.

The idea came to him one day when they were coming back from playing Siege. Renly had, like always, not complained when he was picked last, which was how it had been happening every time since he'd been the lord. 

"At least it isn't a real siege," Brus said as they made their way in to dinner. "Then we wouldn't have any supper."

The idea was such a good one he could barely keep it to himself. But he couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't trust anyone. It would require being very quiet and very patient, but if he was, it was sure to work.

Patience was the hard part. He had to wait until everybody went to bed. Then he got dressed and tucked Robert's hunting knife into his belt.

He didn't meet anyone in the passage and he dashed by the entrance to the great hall, keeping to the shadows. There were a few men still up, dozing over their tankards, hounds at their feet. Renly pushed away the memories of falling asleep on the bench after nights filled with stories as Robert and his friends tried to outdo one another.

He slipped through the big wooden double doors and out into the chilly night. There was a light breeze and it sent his hair into his face. He crouched in the shadow of the castle, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The only thing he had to worry about now was the guards on the walls. When one passed, he dashed to another shadow and then waited again.

At last, he was in front of the storehouse. It sat, vacant and silent, and the door didn't so much as creak when Renly let himself in. The only window was set high in the ceiling, but the moon gave Renly all the light he needed. He pulled out Robert's knife and sank it into the first bag of grain he passed. The blade tore through the burlap easily and the contents spilled out all over his feet. He plunged his hands into the bag, pulling out more and more until the sack was light enough to dump out. Then, he went for the next one.

As he did it, he thought about being hungry. They had not had bread, or meat, or fruit, or anything else during the siege. He would like to give Viserys a taste of hunger.

His stomach growled. Supper wasn't enough for a growing boy. He needed a snack. There was a barrel of apples next to him and he took one. Renly took one bit of that apple before tossing it onto the pile of grain. Then he took one bite out of another apple. Apples got brown after you started eating them, but the first bite was good. 

Renly knew all of this was exceedingly naughty. If had had done this, even before the siege, Stannis would have given him a thrashing 

But things were different now, and Renly was fighting back with every weapon he had. 

After a while, he got tired of apples. He took out Robert's knife again. The night was young and his blade was sharp. What else could he do? 

**

When Renly finally woke the next morning, he knew it was late, but no one had come to wake him for breakfast. He hurried to the great hall, not wanting to miss a meal, but it was deserted.

Renly wandered from the great hall to the entrance hall and finally into the courtyard. That was where everybody was, gathered around the storehouse. 

No one acknowledged him when he joined the knot of children staring at the destruction. Ser Cyrian and Maester Cressen were inside with Viserys.

"Whoever did this will be caught, won't he?" Viserys asked urgently. He was looking back and forth between Maester Cressen and Ser Cyrian. 

_No_ , Renly thought. _He won't be.  
_   
"Of course, my prince," Ser Cyrian said.

"And he'll be killed," Viserys added emphatically. 

"That, my prince, is a little extreme, I am afraid. I would recommend—"

"My father burns traitors. I've seen them. I want to feed him to the wildfire."

"First we must find the man," Maester Cressen said. "That will be what Ser Cyrian will work on first. Come, let us have breakfast and lessons while he does his work."

No one looked twice at Renly.

After two nights wreaking havoc in the storehouse, he crept up to the door to find a padlock on it. After that, he turned his attention on the kitchen garden, stomping through the neat furrows and treading on the new growth. The next morning, he overheard Maester Cressen telling Donal Noye that it looked like the work of a little storm.

That gave Renly an even better idea.

_Viserys says he's the blood of the dragon, but I'm the blood of the storm._ He remembered the stories Stannis had read to him all throughout the siege, about the Storm Kings, strong and wild, who had tamed these lands for their own.

There were Argella and Durran and Elenei who had raised the castle in the middle of a wild storm, it was said, by magic, defying even the gods.

"There is no real magic," Stannis had told him when he'd asked. "Is it not better to think of how this castle was built by men? Men who were our forebears, who built it so mighty that the armies outside cannot hope to take it down. Mace Tyrell descends from an upjumped steward, but we descend from kings."

_And I could be a prince, too_ , Renly thought as he climbed the narrow staircase to the top of the tower. There was a storm outside tonight, but he wasn't afraid. He had never been afraid of thunder and lightning because he was stormlands-born and it was in his blood.

The bastard-colored dragon banners flapped in the wind and Renly waited for the lightning flash to tell him where the ropes were. His knife made short work of them and before long, he was dragging a damp bundle of cloth through the quiet castle.

He sliced each banner into strips and ran through the corridor, decorating. He threw strips over wall sconces and carefully draped them over suits of armor. _If we still had the armor with the stag helms, that would look very fine_ , he thought. 

It was late before he finally went to bed, but he was bright-eyed when the screaming woke him the next morning. He scrambled up the stairs to where he knew Viserys had been so upset, joining the other children who had drifted out of their rooms, wanting to see what the commotion was. Renly slowed his pace and tried not to look too eager, for he was not supposed to know what the matter was yet.

Viserys was gripping two of Renly's decorations in his fingers. Ser Alliser stood beside him, purple with rage. Maester Cressen looked pale.

"Baratheon sympathizers," Ser Alliser growled. "And I'll be damned, maester, if you don't know who they are." He leaned in close, hand on his sword.

However, Maester Cressen did not flinch. "And I have told you time and again, good ser, that I am a maester of the Citadel. My loyalty is to the master of this castle, whoever he may be. I remain neutral, with no loyalty to House Baratheon."

Renly ground his teeth, but stayed calm. _Ours is the fury_ , he reminded himself. 

"So you say, maester, but you are supposed to be an educated man. You must know who in this castle is an agent of Stannis Baratheon!"

"What is the matter here?" Ser Cyrian was pushing his way through the knot of boys still in their nightshifts.

"Look!" Viserys was about to cry. Renly fought the desire to laugh. "My banners!"

Ser Cyrian plucked one of the decorations off a wall sconce and examined it. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but Renly thought he looked like he was trying not to smile. 

"This is the work of the same man in the storehouse," Ser Alliser said. "In the name of the crown, he must be caught and punished."

"Aye," Ser Cyrian said, almost reluctantly.

"Could Stannis Baratheon be passing orders to his men here?" Ser Alliser asked Maester Cressen.

Maester Cressen thought for a moment. "I do not know who such a man could be. Stannis was little loved by his men, and most of them are dead or in the dungeons."

_Me_ , thought Renly. _I'm loyal.  
_   
"I want him caught!" Viserys cried, stamping his foot. "I want him cut to ribbons! I want him burnt in dragon fire!"

"In due time, my prince," Ser Alliser said. "Run along to breakfast. While you are taking your lessons with the maester, I will be investigating."

Renly did not see Ser Alliser all morning and even when they went into the training yard for their lesson, it was Ser Bertram who was there.

_He won't find me_ , Renly told himself, as he went through the motions of sparring with Guyard again. _He won't suspect me because I'm six, and they're looking for a man grown who's loyal to Robert and Stannis._ While the knowledge that there were no more men grown at Storm's End who were loyal to Robert and Stannis hurt, it was nice to know that Renly would not be caught for his deeds.

He even managed to forget his worries and enjoy playing with the other children for the afternoon. They played at being bandits in the godswood, which left them tired and dirty as they headed back for supper.

The good afternoon of playing filled Renly with good feelings so much so that he forgot to resent the other boys as cowards and traitors.

The sun was just beginning its descent toward the distant mountains and long shadows were cast through the dusty yard. He found himself wanting to sing and one of Robert's drinking songs was on his lips before he could think twice.

_The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,  
and her kisses were warmer than spring._

__He hadn't sung since before the siege, and he'd nearly forgotten how much he liked it. Stannis didn't sing, and he would have certainly disapproved of this song, but Renly liked it because he liked having the freedom to sing a wicked song when nobody would stop him. Even Beric smiled at him.  
 _  
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,  
and its kiss was --_

__The next words died on his tongue. There was a small crowd gathered in the courtyard. Ser Alliser stood at the center of it, beside a pole. It took a moment before Renly realized a man was tied to it, head bowed.

It was Donal Noye.

"My prince!" Ser Alliser called to Viserys. "We have found the culprit."

"Hooray!" Viserys ran past Renly. "Will he be punished now?"

"Soon, my prince."

Renly stayed rooted to the spot. The other boys did not seem to notice; they were crowding around Viserys eagerly, curious to see what punishment would be meted out.

Renly looked wildly about, but there was no one who could help him, no one who could stop this. Maester Cressen was there, looking very serious, but Renly could not go to him. His eyes scanned the crowd. There was no one else.

This wasn't supposed to have happened! Renly was supposed to have had the ability to act freely under the guise of the nonexistent Baratheon loyalist. They were not supposed to have found an innocent man. 

He looked to Ser Alliser. If he confessed, would they whip him, in Donal Noye's stead? He edged closer to Ser Alliser. It was the right thing to do. How could he face Stannis if he had allowed one of their most loyal retainers to take a punishment that should have been his? It was practically lying, and Stannis always punished lying worse than the misdeed that had been covered up.

He swallowed hard.

And then Donal Noye's eyes met his. Renly started. Noye was staring at him intently, and it did not seem to be a coincidence. Renly held his gaze, unflinchingly.

_He knows.  
_   
The thought hit Renly like a lightning strike. Donal Noye knew it had been him, and he had not told Ser Alliser. Renly's mouth dropped open.

Noye shook his head once. Tears pricked the corners of Renly's eyes. "No," he whispered, but no one heard him.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again. He would not look away while Donal Noye was whipped for Renly's crime. He would tell Stannis what Noye had done, and they would reward him. It was just one more thing that would have to be endured. 

The other boys watched with ghoulish glee, but Renly had the gravity of a lord. It was almost like he was one. While Stannis was gone, Renly was the only Baratheon in Storm's End, just like Stannis had held the castle throughout the siege. 

That night, Renly thought about what to do. He had to do something to reward Donal Noye, to show him his support was valued by House Baratheon. He remembered Stannis always telling him, "Honor a man as you know is his due, even if no other should understand the reason."

He could not honor Noye as he was due, though. To honor Noye properly would involve a knighthood, or even a lordship. Those would have to wait until Stannis came back. Then Renly would tell him the whole story and Stannis would knight Donal Noye. 

He pulled his blanket up over his head and rolled over on his side. The dark did not seem so bad with the blanket pulled up. He had to think of what castle to give Donal Noye. There would surely be some extra ones because there would be traitors Stannis would send to the Wall, based on Renly's reports. Like Ser Cyrian. He was a nice man, and Renly regretted that he would have to take the black, but it would be better than losing his head. Stannis would probably want to take the head of the man who had served as Viserys' castellan, but Renly would have him sent to the Wall. And he would make sure Ser Cyrian knew it was at Renly's mercy.

Or maybe Donal Noye ought to be given Greenstone. It was a valuable holding which had once belonged to their grandfather. Alyn would rue the day he'd ignored Renly.

But there had to be something Renly could do for him now. As he often did of a night, he reached under his mattress and pulled out Robert's hunting knife. It was sort comforting to touch something that had been Robert's. It was scuffed from years of use and he thought of Robert going hunting in the Eyrie and using the knife. He had always said he would take Renly hunting after he rescued Lady Lyanna, but that would never happen now. 

He shut his eyes and tried to remember one of Robert's hunting stories. He liked the made-up ones just as much as the real ones; he even liked the ones where the stag won.

Robert always told that one _after_ returning from a successful hunt because it was bad luck to tell it before. It would be after the feast, nearly bedtime, and Renly would be trying stay out of notice so no one would send him to bed, when Robert would scoop him into his lap and say, "Do you know why it took me so long to bring home the venison?" 

Renly would always shake his head no, even though he knew full well the answer. 

Robert would point up at the tapestry above their heads. "Because I met the King of the Forest." And then he would launch into the story.

Tears sprang to Renly's eyes at the memory. The King of the Forest was gone now, just like Robert. 

That was when Renly knew how to show Donal Noye House Baratheon was still around and valued his service. He rolled off his mattress, got dressed, and slipped through the door. 

It seemed strange to see the great hall empty. The fire was burning low and it was a little cold. He wished he'd worn his cloak. The dragon tapestry filled him with revulsion. 

It would not be there long.

Robert's chair (he refused to think of it as Viserys') was the tallest on the dais below the tapestry and it made a loud squealing on the flags as he pulled it over. Then, he climbed onto it and braced one boot on each arm and swung the knife up. 

It was useless. The knifepoint would snag on the tapestry but then it would slip right off. Muttering an oath under his breath, Renly stretched higher. Maybe he could pull it down. His fingers caught the edge and he leaped from the chair to hang from the tapestry.

It didn't budge. No matter how much he pulled or beat his feet against the wall, the dragon tapestry stayed put until Renly's arms gave out and he slipped to the floor.

He lay there for a moment, dazed and panting. He couldn't reach it and he couldn't bring it down. There had to be some other way. Briefly, he considered putting a torch to it, but he knew how dangerous fire was, especially with the wooden ceiling beams. He couldn't very well welcome Stannis back only for him to have to confess how he'd burnt Storm's End to the ground. 

He pushed himself to his feet. He might not be able to totally destroy the wretched thing, but maybe he could deface it. He would ruin it so Viserys could never enjoy it again. 

But how? 

Then he remembered Viserys' favorite game: Siege. He could ruin the tapestry with a little game of Siege. 

Renly found a bucket an ran outside to the well, the bucket banging against his legs.

He packed mudballs into the bucket until he almost couldn't lift it. Then he lugged it back into the great hall. 

He aimed the first mudball at the gold dragon, which he knew was Viserys' favorite because it matched the one on his banners. 

_Splat!_ The mud spattered over the threads. For Robert. _Splat!_ For Donal Noye. _Splat-splat-splat-splat!_ For each of Stannis' fingers. _Splat!_ For the King of the Forest. Renly threw mud until his bucket was empty and his shoulder was burning. 

Then he went back for more. 

It took a lot of mudballs to cover the tapestry, but he was well on his way to doing it. He was sweating and covered head-to-toe in mud, but it felt good, like he was doing real work. This was the best he'd ever done at night. 

The storehouses had hurt the castle, and the banners had upset Viserys but to ruin his tapestry, the tapestry that was a slap in the face to House Baratheon was more invigorating than any of it. 

_Splat!_ That one was for his lord father, sunk to the bottom of the sea on an errand from the Mad King. 

"Oi! What are you doing?" 

Renly spun, a mudball still in his hand. There was a guard in a black surcoat standing there. Renly suddenly recognized him; he'd been a guard before Viserys had come. He stared at Renly for a long moment, confusion written on his face. Should he appeal to this man, who had served Robert and their lord father? This was, by rights, his man.

Renly dropped his mudball and ran. 

He had nearly made it to the far door when the guard caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Treachery! Treachery! I’ve caught the saboteur!”

"Let go of me!" Renly twisted in his grasp. 

By this time, more guards were coming and he could not get away.

"Wake Ser Cyrian," someone said, and Renly felt his stomach drop. He was going to be punished badly for this, he knew. What more could they do to him?

The guard who had Renly's arm twisted it behind his back and propelled him against the wall. Moments later, Ser Cyrian came into the hall. His hair was uncombed and his doublet laces were through the wrong holes.

"Smith's teeth," he murmured under his breath when he saw the tapestry. Then, when he saw Renly covered in mud, he said a worse oath. He took a deep breath and rubbed his beard. Then he looked at Renly again. "Renly, what have you done?"

"I threw mud on the tapestry."

Ser Cyrian sighed again. He seemed to do that almost as much as Stannis. "Why did you do it?"

"Because," Renly said firmly, "they took our castle."

"And they have treated you as well as could be expected." Ser Cyrian spoke slowly, not in an angry tone. He just sounded… disappointed. But, quite petulantly, Renly decided he didn't care. "Is this how you repay mercy?"

Mercy did not seem to Renly to be a good assessment of it. He looked up at Ser Cyrian with all the steel he could muster into his gaze. 

“You struck your prince.”

“He deserved it.”

“You struck your prince. For that, others have lost their hands. Others have lost their lives. By the Seven, Renly, you know that the Targaryens have executed men for lesser offenses! That’s how Robert’s fucking Rebellion started!”

"And I won't bow to a Mad King. My brothers didn't." 

“And how did that work out for them, Renly? How is it working out for you? What do you think is going to happen to you?”

"I don't care." Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He _didn't_ care. Not when Robert was gone and Stannis was gone and nobody was left who cared about him.

“Have you ever seen anyone burn to death, Renly?”

Renly was saved from having to answer by a shout from outside the hall. "What's going on? What's happened to my tapestry?"

Viserys was still in his shift and was followed by Ser Alliser. 

"Ser Cyrian!" Viserys cried. "How did this happen? I thought you had that man whipped. Why--" Then his gaze fell on Renly. Renly could see it all forming in his mind. Renly was covered in mud. The tapestry was covered in mud.

Viserys' eyes went wide with disbelief. Renly wondered why he was surprised. "W-Why? Renly, why?"

Renly was suddenly filled by a rush of hot fury. How could he not have seen? "Because I hate you!" he screamed, his fingers digging into his palms. "I fucking hate you! I hate all of you!" 

Viserys started to cry.

Ser Alliser grabbed Renly by the neck of his tunic. "What will it be now, Ser Cyrian? Another spanking?"

Ser Cyrian looked almost sad. "No, I daresay not." 

They were going to kill him. They were going to cut off his head. 

"Little brat." Ser Alliser shook him. "You're no better than your traitor brothers. One a pox-ridden lecher and the other stiff-necked coward. No wonder you turned out the way you did.” 

“My brothers are noble men who fought for the honor of Lady Lyanna! His brother is a bride-stealing bandit!” He jabbed a finger at Viserys. 

Ser Alliser’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "A beating is too good for you. They ought to send you to the Wall. That might even be too good for you. If it were up to me, I might sell you across the Narrow Sea."

"And then I'd find Stannis," Renly said. "That's where he went." 

“You _do_ know where he is! I knew it!”

Renly didn't know exactly, of course, but he was secretly pleased to be thought to have such knowledge. "And he's coming back. He'll be Lord of Storm's End, and he'll cut off all your heads." He looked at Viserys. "Even _yours_." 

That only made Viserys cry harder. _Baby._

“The only head you need be worried about is your own,” Ser Cyrian said sadly. "Oh, Renly, where did I do you wrong?" 

Renly said nothing. There was nothing Ser Cyrian could have done, and he didn't understand why he thought there was. Maybe he could run away before it came to that and find Stannis. And even if they did cut off his head, he would die for Storm's End and that wouldn't be a bad death at all.


	20. Stannis VIII

Stannis lay awake for quite a long time, listening to the sound of the waves. It reminded him of the home he feared he would never again see. From his quarters on the _Marya_ , he was certainly aware of the nearness of the sea, but it was not quite the same to hear the waves lapping against the hull. His bedroom at Storm's End had overlooked the sea and the waves had comforted from the time he'd been a small child.

He hadn't truly meant to fall asleep. He really had wanted to keep watch in case something should come near the fire, something more dangerous than the pigs they'd hunted earlier. He could not shake the sense of foreboding. 

Despite that, the peace of the waves and the starry sky above made him feel strangely free. He was further from his home than he had any right to be—a man of his class might travel to the Free Cities but Slaver's Bay was another thing entirely. No one he knew would ever have suspected it of him.

 _Imagine, Robert_ , he thought. _Imagine it of me. Imagine me the sellsword, the adventurer, consorting with smugglers._ A smile spread across his face at that last thought. 

Davos' kisses had sparked a hunger in him that he hadn't even known himself capable of. He had never thought much about physical desire, only knowing that his appetites were not as fleeting as Robert's. Now, after being kissed, he could think of nothing save… _that_. That which would come one of these days, perhaps when Davos judged him ready, for Stannis did not think he himself had the capacity for reason to make such a decision himself. 

His imaginings were hazy and lacking in detail, but as he lay there on the warm, clear night, watching the stars, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to find himself taken to Davos' bed.

But when he slept, he dreamed of shadows.

He didn't know where he was, though smoke stung his eyes and the familiar smell of the sea filled his nostrils. He was on the deck of a war galley. In his head, he heard a woman's voice— _reborn amidst salt and smoke to wake dragons out of stone._ Where had he heard that before? 

Green flames sprang up in front of him and the deck pitched under his feet. Everywhere the sea was on fire and through the smoke, Stannis could see the walls of a city. He was going to lose his entire fleet. His vision blurred as he searched to see if any ship wasn't burning. _Let Davos and his sons not be lost._  
  
Davos and his sons?

The ship he was on dropped again and Stannis found himself falling through shadows. He was in a tent with a proud, young lord he first took to be Robert, but then knew to be Renly, a man grown. He was still getting his bearings, studying the grownup Renly curiously when he noticed a stirring in the shadows. Renly was oblivious to it, raising a cup of wine to his lips while a knight of indistinct features bent to armor him. 

"No!" Stannis fumbled for his sword, but before he could draw it, Renly's throat was cut. Blood mixed with spilt wine and the ever-encroaching shadows. Stannis tried to fight through them in a vain attempt to get to his brother, but they overwhelmed him until he knew nothing but blackness. 

When they faded from his vision, he was in a tower room he well recognized—he was home, at Storm's End. The flickering torchlight had beaten the shadows back to the corners, but they remained, dancing at the corners of his vision. A cleaver weighed heavy in his right hand and Stannis thought how curious it was that it should be whole in his dreams when he noticed whose hand he had pressed to the block.

He woke with a cry as he brought the blade down.

He was half off his bedroll, blankets tangled in his legs. Of course it had all been a dream. He sat up, brushing the sand off his face. The fire had burned low; Davos and the children slumbered peacefully. At least his shout had not awakened them.

Stannis stood, stretching his stiff muscles. He could not dismiss these images from his mind as easily as any other nightmare. It had all felt too real. He could still smell the smoke and salt, could still hear the screams. He left the fire and walked down to the shore, hoping the waves would clear his head.

The waves on this beach were gentler than those of Storm's End. Stannis had grown up being lulled to sleep by the sound of the sea crashing violently on the rocks. The slow, rhythmic rolling of the waves unfurling onto the shore was not enough to drown out the chaos in his mind.

His heart was still racing, and he could feel Davos' hand beneath his, a cruel contrast to the quiet moment they'd shared the morning after the storm. Why would he be given such a vision? Was this what would have happened if he'd kept his lands?

Was this what would happen if he got them back?

Even though it was a warm night, Stannis shivered.

"Stannis?"

He had not heard Davos come up.

"Are you ill?"

Stannis turned to look at him. His hair was sleep-mussed and Stannis was immediately struck by inappropriate thoughts about lying next to Davos in bed. "No," he said. "I'm fine."

"Then why are you here instead of asleep with the rest of us?"

Stannis shrugged. "My sleep was disturbed. A dream, nothing more."

Davos touched his arm. It was a light, tentative gesture, and Stannis ached to draw him nearer. "It seems a great deal more than that. I would listen if you would like to tell me."

Stannis sighed. "It does not bear thinking about. Just know that I dreamt I brought your family and mine own into a bad end."

"And it was a dream and nothing more." Davos' hand began moving up and down Stannis' upper arm. It was a soothing gesture, but Stannis could not help but be reminded of the cleaver.

"It felt real."

"Dreams do," Davos murmured. "And then the light comes and the shadows fade." He smiled. "You remind me of Maric."

Stannis felt a cold chill. He knew what ship Maric had been on. _Would that you could chase away the monsters in my mind as easily as you do the ones under his bed._  
  
Davos did not still his hand. "I will not press you, Stannis, but if we are to embark on such a relationship together… know that you can tell me everything." 

Stannis frowned. He thought of the way Davos had always been there for him, even before their first kiss. Davos was nothing if not true. He would listen to Stannis' concerns without judgment. 

He sighed and took Davos' hand, lacing their fingers together. "I dreamed that I hurt you." The specifics of the dream were fading fast, but Stannis was still conscious of Davos' pain at his hands. "We prevailed at Storm's End, and I took you into my service." 

"I am sure I would have been honored." 

"But I demanded a punishment for your crimes. Would you have accepted that?"

"Since I have every confidence you would have presented a fair proposition, I am sure I would have accepted." He reached up and brushed his fingers over Stannis' cheek. "And were I in your service, I am sure we would have discovered our connection." He kissed Stannis lightly on the lips. "I think that was inevitable, Stannis, if that was your concern."

It had not been, and his thoughts were still on the burning water as he pulled Davos closer and deepened the kiss. It still wasn't natural to him, and he was still inclined to follow Davos' lead, but there was a point where instinct took over. 

This was real, this was not a dream. Davos was here, whole, and they were not separated by rank. 

_If anything, I am beholden to him_ , Stannis thought with a smile, _for he is my captain._

He kissed Davos more hungrily, slipping his fingers into his hair. Davos let out an exquisite groan. By mutual agreement, they lowered themselves to the ground. The moon provided sufficient light for him to marvel at the sight of Davos underneath him, his hair spread out in the sand. 

Davos rested his palms against Stannis' jaw. "What do you have in mind here, Stannis?" 

"I'm not sure." Stannis lowered his head to kiss Davos' neck. "But I fear I am unable to keep my hands off you." 

"As highly flattering as that is, I am loathe to consider the possibility of sand in places we might prefer not to get sand."

"You speak truth, Davos." He still found himself half bewildered in looking at him, and the press of Davos' thigh between his legs was distracting. "But I confess I could kiss you all night." 

Davos' smile grew sly. "Not sleepy?"

Stannis averted his gaze. "Not at the current moment."

Davos lazily traced his jaw. "I would be pleased to lie up with you until you feel like sleeping."

Stannis kissed Davos again, nipping lightly at his lower lip. It was something Davos had done to him and he was eager to repay the favor. After a time, the shadows cleared from Stannis' mind and when they returned, hand-in-hand, to the campfire, he crawled contentedly into his bedroll to finish the night.

It was full daylight when Stannis awoke to find Dale stoking the fire.

"Father went to talk to the crew," he said. "To see if the sail's ready."

"Thank you, Dale." Stannis rose and stretched, surprised at how refreshed he felt. The shadows of last night could not have been further away. He mussed Dale's hair as he passed. The sun bore with it a new day.

He organized the boys through bathing in the surf, and by the time Davos returned, they had beans cooking to go with last night's roasted pork. 

"Ah, you've made me breakfast!" Davos was smiling as he approached.

"I helped!" Maric said, holding up the stick he was using to stir the beans.

"Then I am sure it will be delicious." As he passed Stannis, he reached out to squeeze his shoulder, forcing him to turn away so Davos would not see his reddened face. He didn't know how much Davos was comfortable with in front of the children, however much he longed to kiss him hello. 

"The sail is repaired," Davos went on as he served himself from the pot. "The men worked hard at it yesterday. We can be on our way."

"Good." Stannis looked back out over the clear sea to where they were anchored. Despite the morning light and the presence of Davos and the children, he still found he did not want to long remain in this place where he had been presented with such vivid nightmares. He glanced down at his own fingers as if needing reassurance that they were still gone, that the scene depicted in his dream would never play out.

They were not more than a day's journey from Elyria. Stannis stayed with the boys on deck as they sailed along the Isle of Cedars.

"Monkeys," Matthos said mournfully, chin resting on the rail as he watched the creatures caper on the island. "I could have captured a monkey like Salladhor Saan's got."

"Best to leave them where they are," Stannis told him. "Some creatures we are not meant to bother with." He was thinking of Proudwing and found himself wondering if it had really been right to listen to Uncle Harbert and let her go.

 _Even if she would never hunt, she might have been a good companion._  
  
When they docked, Davos gave the men leave to go ashore. No doubt they were headed straight for the winesinks and whorehouses. Stannis declined to go along. He was beginning to chafe under the ruse of Lyonel Storm, and besides, he far preferred spending his time with Davos and his family—and with Davos alone after they put the children to bed. 

The next morning, Stannis went to Davos' quarters early so that the smuggler would not hope of setting off without him. 

"Don't tell me you plan to go alone to carry out your business," he said. 

"I had a mind to." Davos watched as Stannis crossed the room and snagged the letter from Magister Illyrio off the table. It came complete with directions to the seller's home.

"And how did you plan to manage with these?"

Davos looked sheepish. "I didn't want to inconvenience you."

"Nonsense." Stannis kissed Davos briskly and tucked the letter into his jerkin. "I must go with you, for your safety. We will have to stop so I can buy a sword, of course. I cannot protect you with no blade."

Davos smiled. "You do not need a blade. I have been at this smuggling business a long time. I have been in much direr ports than this one and I still have my head. My luck is good."

"And all luck runs out in time. You don't even know what our client is buying. It could make you a target. You could find yourself in the street with everything on your person taken from you." Stannis was pleased to have thought of his final point, as it had happened to him. "Or it could be too much for one man to carry."

Davos smiled. "That is true, Stannis."

They set out side-by-side, Stannis finding he walked with his head held high when beside Davos. The market was about half a mile from where they were docked and even at this early hour, it was crowded.

"Blade first," Stannis said, scanning the stalls that lined the path. "Certainly before we meet with our client. You cannot be seen to have come all this way with no guard."

They stopped in front of a bladesmith's stall. Stannis tried several swords, testing their weights, the feel of them. He settled upon a short sword not unlike the one he'd worn when he'd fought with Golden Company. Once had had paid for it, he buckled it round his waist and they set off again.

Now that he had steel at his side, he felt whole again. He was on guard constantly as they moved through the bustle of the foreign city. He kept his eyes open for any threat and he kept his hand on the pommel of his new sword.

"I do not think we can be in danger now," Davos pointed out. "We are still in the marketplace."

"The most dangerous place. It will be full of thieves, cutpurses, and cheats."

"When will you again have a chance to explore the wonders of Elyria?"

Stannis averted his eyes as they passed a frieze portraying a couple mid-coitus. "Never, gods willing." Such things were fine, he supposed, for a couple in the privacy of their chamber, but not in public. Although now, he could not banish the image from his mind. He felt his face grow red.

"Exactly my point." Davos stopped at another vendor's stall, not seeming to have noticed what Stannis had. "I would like to get something for the children. They will not remember this when they are grown."

Stannis raised an eyebrow. "Will you bring them ashore?"

Davos smiled. "If we have a bodyguard, what can go wrong?"

Stannis had not expected to buy anything, but he watched as Davos stopped in front of a toy-seller. Davos was studying the wooden animals.

"I thought I might get Matthos his monkey," he said with a smile.

Stannis nodded. His attention was drawn to an elephant. It wore a brightly-colored blanket on its back and reminded Stannis of the richly-dressed animals he had seen in the Free Cities. _Renly would have liked to see them_ , he thought.

"Do you like that?"

Stannis pulled his hand back. "I thought Renly might. My brother. A memento of the East… he would like the colors. I saw beasts like this in Tyrosh." He hesitated. "I do not want to buy it if I won't be able to give it to him."

"You will," Davos said with conviction. "I will see to it." He smiled warmly and reached down to squeeze Stannis' hand, sending a jolt of warmth straight up his arm.

Stannis handed over coins. "Now," he said, "we should attend to our business." He tucked the toy into the pouch on his belt and pulled out the written directions. "It seems our man is a spicer. This way."

As they moved away from the docks, the streets took on a finer cast. Stannis enjoyed the warmth of the sun and Davos' companionship. He allowed himself to entertain the brief fantasy that this was all he wanted in life, to be a smuggler's bodyguard as he traveled the mean streets of the East. 

Soon, they were on a wide avenue lined with palm trees. The large houses, concealed by walls, were spaced far apart and guards paced out front. There was no refuse in the streets here and Stannis nearly had to look away at the brightness of the sun shining on the white stone.

"Here," Stannis said, coming to an abrupt stop. "The third manse on this street is our client's house." Two bored-looking guards stood outside the gate. One had a wineskin to his lips. Stannis bowed stiffly, and Davos followed his lead. Hopefully High Valyrian would be good enough for this exchange.

"We come on behalf of Magister Illyrio of Pentos. Your master has a business transaction with Magister Illyrio that we are charged with seeing carried out." Stannis presented the letter from Magister Illyrio, still sealed. The guard examined it.

"Come with me," he said, at last, in a language close to what Stannis could understand.

Stannis gestured for Davos to go ahead of him and the guard led them through the gates and into the garden. It was a fragrant jungle, full of fruits and flowers Stannis didn't even know the names of. They followed the guard down a long, tiled hallway. The house was built around a central garden courtyard and as they passed through it, Stannis marveled at its coolness despite the oppressive heat. The reason for that became clear as they passed again into a hallway and he noticed the airshaft about their heads.

"He will be with you shortly," the guard said, directing them into a high-ceilinged room built around an elaborate fountain. After a moment's hesitation, Davos sat on one of the richly-appointed couches, but Stannis remained standing, studying his surroundings. This was apparently where Master Jaxos kept his treasures on display for his guests. Stannis spotted a Dothraki _arakh_ , a battered suit of Westerosi plate armor, and a pointed helmet of the Unsullied.

"Ah, my Westerosi smuggler!" A short man with a pointed beard entered the room. "Do you appreciate my treasures?"

Stannis quickly translated as Davos rose and bowed.

"Let me have your names," Master Jaxos said eagerly.

"My master is called Davos. My name is Lyonel Storm."

The master's eyebrows rose. "A noble bastard! Well met, my friend, well met." He shook Stannis' hand vigorously. "What put you in a smuggler's service?"

"Trouble at home," Stannis answered simply.

The man laughed. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your journey because I confess you must go away empty-handed. I have decided not to sell. Tell Magister Illyrio his money will be returned to him by the avenue by which it came and present him with my mark so he will know you speak the truth." He handed Davos back the letter as Stannis translated furiously.

Davos bowed. "Thank him for his time."

Stannis did so.

"Do tell him I apologize for the inconvenience. There are other items of my collection I might be convinced to part with but not those. Even if they are not genuine, I like them too much. And if you have any artifacts you might like to part with, I would be glad to buy." He was looking at Stannis as though he were about to ask for a lock of noble bastard hair.

"I don't have anything."

"A pity. Let me show you out." He put a friendly hand on Stannis' shoulder and guided him to the door. Davos followed with a smile on his face.

"What was he saying then?" Davos asked once they were out on the street again.

Stannis explained Master Jaxos' offer. Davos laughed. "If only he knew you were no bastard. If he knew he had the Lord of Storm's End, he might have wanted to keep you."

"Would that that was what I was."

Davos patted his arm. "Lord or bastard, you are you, Stannis, and that is all that matters to me. Let's go back. I am eager to give the boys their gifts."

They set off and Stannis glanced down at the letter before he returned it to his jerkin. They would need to pay a visit to Pentos to explain the situation… he frowned. The letter was written in a variation of Valyrian Stannis had trouble reading, so he could not be sure…

He unfolded the letter again, stopping dead in his tracks, causing Davos to turn around.

"You truly never knew the cargo?" he asked.

"No. I was never told. Is it written there?"

Stannis read the sentence again to make sure. He could not be wrong, a mistranslation now would not do. Perhaps it wasn't that. Perhaps it was bones, preserved skin, something from the ruins of Valyria, the realm of the dragonlords.

But no, Stannis was sure. The grammar was different, but the vocabulary he knew perfectly well.

_Dragon eggs.  
_


	21. Davos VI

"What does it say?"

Stannis was still clutching the parchment, and he appeared to have gone quite pale. Perhaps it was the heat. "Nothing," he said, stuffing the letter into his jerkin. "Come. Byren isn't as young as he once was, and the children can be tiring."

He turned sharply, cloak snapping, and Davos was forced to hurry to follow. Perhaps later he could convince Stannis to come into the city with him. He imagined them strolling down the streets as they had this morning, exploring, with no mind to work. 

However, when they reached the _Marya_ , Stannis disappeared into his room. Davos tried not to take it personally and spent his afternoon playing with the boys as they enjoyed their new toys. It pleased him to see them happy. He was listening raptly to Matthos' description of all the adventures his monkey had had when there was a knock on the door.

"Davos?" Stannis said. "May I have a word?"

"Certainly." Davos gave Matthos an apologetic pat on the head and joined him in the corridor.

"Your quarters?" Stannis ran a hand through his hair. It was sticking nearly straight up. Clearly, something was troubling him. "It is a sensitive matter."

Once they were safely behind a closed door, Davos sat in the rocking chair while Stannis paced before him.

"I would not ask this of you if it were not necessary," he began. "But I think I have found a way to…" He paused as though he almost did not believe it himself. "I think I have found a way to get Storm's End back."

Davos gripped the arms of his chair, surprised as the strong negative feeling that rushed through him. "How?"

Stannis cleared his throat. "The artifacts Master Jaxos refused to sell—they are dragon eggs." He withdrew the letter from his jerkin with a flourish and handed it to Davos as though he could read it. "These shall be my way home. The Targaryens have thirsted for dragons ever since they lost theirs. I am sure that if bring them to Rhaegar…"

"But, Stannis, how do you know they are real?"

He smirked. It was a strange sight, although Davos couldn't say he didn't like it. He liked the sight of Stannis triumphant and proud. His hair was mussed from running his hands through it and Davos wanted to kiss him but thought that might spoil the mood.

"He would not have them if they weren't," he said simply. "Everything else in that room was authentic. He is a man who collects items from around the world. That is his mission in life. I am sure he would not buy mere rocks unless he was sure."

"Yes, but… he refused to sell to Magister Illyrio. Surely you don't think he can be persuaded to sell to you." _And besides you have no money. Without the castle you seek to get back you are as much nothing as I am.  
_   
"I know," Stannis said grimly. "I will have to steal them."

Davos gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "Steal them?"

Stannis went on as though Davos hadn't spoken. "I will not ask for your help in this. It would be wrong of me. I have done much thinking on this. I will go alone. I—"

"Stannis, that is ridiculous—"

"You have the children to think of. If you came with me and were caught and killed, I would never forgive myself."

Davos neglected to point out that Stannis would likely be dead as well. "Stannis, this is madness! You saw the place! You saw the guards!"

"I saw them drinking."

"You don't even know where the eggs are."

"They must be in that room," Stannis snapped. He was not angry at Davos, he supposed, but resentful still of the position in which he found himself. Davos imagined Stannis spending the long afternoon in his own quarters, pacing and tugging at his hair in frustrated thought. Stannis seemed to have noticed his own anger, for he closed his eyes before continuing. "He is a man of great pride. He would not hide his greatest treasure."

Davos searched for an answer.

"What other choice have I, Davos?" He looked down at his feet.

Davos rose from his chair and went to embrace him. He slipped his arms around Stannis and rested his head on his shoulder. "Please leave off this mad plan, Stannis. If you bear me any regard…"

Stannis sighed heavily, but his arms came up to encircle Davos. "I need Storm's End. Without it, I am nothing."

"You're not nothing, Stannis." Davos smoothed his hair. "You are a fine man I am proud to have at my side."

"I am not even _Stannis_. I am Lyonel Storm." He wriggled out of Davos' embrace and fell to pacing again. "I don't even have my own name."

"At least you have your life! You have been spared that; do not squander it. I would not be able to live with myself if you were killed." Stannis paused, his eyes seeming to bore into Davos, and he found he did not mind guilting him into staying behind. "The children would be devastated," he added. "And what about your brother?"

Stannis sighed. He crossed the room back over to Davos. "If that is how you feel," he said, but he did not look very convinced.

"It is how I feel." Davos took his hands. "Please, Stannis, just be grateful for what you do have." He leaned up and kissed him. "Can you put this from your mind?"

Stannis cupped Davos' cheek. "I shall try." He kissed Davos then, quick and clumsy, as though to disguise to dissatisfied downturn of his mouth, but Davos had seen it and could not put it from his mind.

**

The next morning, Davos went into the boys' room to find them gone. He was momentarily gripped by a sudden worry before he remembered who they were most likely with. He smiled. After spending so long caring for them alone, it was sometimes difficult to remember that he now had help. He headed for the galley.

"Good morning, Father!" Maric looked up from where he had been supervising Stannis soaking his hardtack. "Can we go to the menagerie?"

"I told them," Stannis added, "that there was a menagerie with all manner of creatures. But we will go only if you allow it."

Davos smiled. "I think it a splendid idea." He sat on the bench across from Stannis and began loading salt pork and beans onto his plate. "I think we can go after breakfast. I don't have anything else to do, but I thought we might remain in port a few days more to give the men a rest. It has been a long journey."

It was good to be out in the warm sunshine with his family. Davos held tight to Maric's and Matthos' hands, while Dale and Allard walked a few paces ahead, next to Stannis. Dale was fascinated by his sword and he peppered him with questions, each of which received a patient answer.

Even though Davos had sailed far and wide, the menagerie still filled him with wonder and made him realize how little time he spent away from the docks when he was in a new port. He was able to see the sights through his boys' eyes; even Dale, who considered himself almost as good as a man grown, looked upon giraffes and elephants with childlike wonder. He even noticed a small smile on Stannis' face. _Perhaps this will convince him_ , he thought, _that he wants nothing more in life than to spend his time with me and the children.  
_   
He managed to keep up this fiction all day, until they were on their way back to the ship. They had stopped by a stand selling meat on sticks and Davos was enjoying the twilight stroll. He glanced over at Stannis, wondering if it would mean anything if he confessed his concerns.

That was when he noticed Stannis staring at the walls of the manse they passed. It was Master Jaxos', white walls gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Maric, on Stannis' shoulders, followed his gaze.

"Who lives in that big house?" he asked, pointing with his stick.

Stannis adjusted his hold on Maric's ankles. "A man with more than he knows what to do with."

"How much is that?" Allard asked.

"More than he would ever miss." Stannis' lip curled imperceptibly. The boys did not notice, but Davos did.

It was too early for bed by the time they returned to the _Marya_ , so Davos decided to turn the boys loose to play a bit. He glanced at Stannis, wondering what he would do. 

At last, Davos swallowed hard. "Stannis," he said quietly. "I would like to see you alone again."

Stannis looked surprised. "Certainly, Davos."

Once they were alone, Davos turned to him. He must speak now else he lose his nerve.

"Are you truly unhappy, Stannis?"

Stannis looked momentarily surprised at Davos' words, but he soon had an answer. "I am too happy. When I am with you and the children, I manage to convince myself I want nothing more. You make me want to shirk my duty."

"Surely you are too hard on yourself."

"Surely," Stannis agreed. "But it was the life I was born to. Perhaps if I was born to this life, I would accept it without question." 

"You love Storm's End."

"It is the dearest thing to me after you and the children and Renly." Davos had been afraid to touch him, but it was Stannis who closed the distance, slipping his hands under Davos' hair. "Can you not see that, Davos? I do not want to choose between you and Storm's End. I want both." 

Davos smiled fondly and brushed his hand over Stannis' cheek. "Are the dragon eggs still on your mind?"

"Always." Stannis sat on the bed. "Davos, I cannot let this opportunity go. I think it may have been set in my path as you were."

"You mean by the Seven?" Davos sat beside him.

Stannis nodded. "I never kept them well. In truth I never kept them at all. But it is too much to be mere coincidence." He reached out to take Davos' hand. "You have been so good to me—more than that. You…" He stopped, but the meaning was clear. "I would never want to give you up."

"Do you think you can have both?"

"Aye, I do. If I can get at those eggs."

Davos looked down at their joined hands. If he truly cared about Stannis, was it not selfishness that made him demand he not try to get them?

"I do not want you to go alone. What about the crew?"

Stannis frowned. "I have no authority over them."

"No authority, aye." He brought Stannis' hand up to his lips. "They are of a class of men who mislike it as a rule. They choose to give their loyalty by a man's deeds, not his birth. I have the honor of being their captain, but they would leave if they had quarrel with the conditions or if they wanted to pursue a different line of work."

"They think I am a bastard sellsword."

"Then tell them who you are." Davos held Stannis' gaze. There was doubt in the sharp blue eyes. Davos wondered how many people had let him know he had his own worth beyond his birth. "State your case and ask for support. I would be surprised if you did not get it."

Stannis looked away. "I cannot take your men any more than I could take you."

"They are not _my_ men, Stannis. They are their own lords and masters, and if they wanted to come with you, it would be by their own choice. The same as if they wanted to stay behind." He slipped an around Stannis' shoulders. "You give good reason for me to stay behind, but there are men of my crew with certain skills you might find useful."

"Who?"

"Let them tell you." He kissed Stannis lightly on the lips. "Do not doubt yourself. That is only setting yourself up for failure."

"What made you change your mind? You were so opposed to my going before."

Davos smiled. "I realized I was no more your master than you were mine. I will worry, but I have no right to insist you do not try."

Stannis nodded. "I will be careful." He kissed Davos, a slower kiss than he'd seemed inclined to before. Then he pulled back, suddenly looking stricken. "I lied to the children, Davos. What will I tell them?"

Davos smiled. "The truth. I assure you, they will adore you no less."

**

The galley was full when Stannis and Davos entered with the children. Supper had just been served and most of the men were ready to spend the evening in wine and tall tales. Davos had the feeling Stannis was about to tell the most unbelievable story they would hear tonight.

Byren looked up from where he was putting away the dishes. "Well, this is a sight to see."

Every eye in the room turned to them. Stannis put his hands behind his back and held his head high. 

"I have something to tell you all," he said. "I have not been honest with you."

Davos sat on a nearby bench and pulled Maric into his lap.

"What's he saying, Father?"

Davos smoothed his hair. "Shh, listen." 

"My name is not Lyonel Storm." The galley was silent. "I am no bastard and no knight. I am Stannis Baratheon, true Lord of Storm's End."

They all stared at him blankly. Then Byren laughed. He strode forward and clapped Stannis on the back so hard he staggered forward. "You had me fooled."

"So you're really not a knight?" Dale looked crestfallen.

Stannis turned to him quickly. "Never knighted as such, no. But I was trained in arms, and all of what I told you was true."

"But your name's not Lyonel?" Allard asked.

"No. You may call me Stannis." He suddenly looked so much more relaxed.

"So, the rest is true?" Wex asked. "Even the twins?"

"No," Stannis said. "Not that."

Wex looked disappointed.

"But I did not come here just for that announcement," he went on. "I require your aid." He took a deep breath, surveying the men who are now listening raptly to his every word. "There is a manse in the city I need to break into. It has something that might be the means of my getting back my lands and titles. I do not fancy going alone. If any man would be willing to help me, I would welcome his aid."

Wex was the first to raise his hand. "I was a housebreaker before the captain took me on. I could get into the place."

Davos smiled. He'd been hoping Wex would volunteer.

Stannis looked hesitant.

"I would trust Wex with my life," Davos said.

"Are you discreet?" Stannis asked him.

"Well, I never got caught before. At least not before the goldcloaks were chasing me, and the captain found me."

"Have you ever broken into a house protected by guards? I don't need you if your only experience is in Fleabottom."

Wex grinned. "Oh, plenty of those. The best loot's in houses protected by guards." His face fell. "But no castles, me lord, never broke into any of those."

"That will serve well enough," Stannis said, nodding. "Do you think we will need anyone else? Lookouts?"

"I'll come," Dale said.

"Absolutely not," Stannis and Davos said at the same time.

"Don't need lookouts," said Wex. "Just a few things. Rope. And I'll need an idea of the layout of the place."

Stannis nodded. He looked perfectly willing to put his fate in the hands of a former housebreaker.

Davos smiled and stood, lifting a sleepy Maric against his shoulder. "Come on, boys," he said softly. "Time for bed."

He left Stannis sitting next to Wex and an eager audience, laying out their plan.


	22. Stannis IX

Stannis did not feel remotely prepared.

"Don't you want me to get a pen and parchment and draw you a map of the house?"

"Nah." Wex tapped his forehead. "You've told me. It's up here now. M'lord."

"Stannis," he corrected. _Let him call me his lord when I am returned to my hall. I might take him into my service then._

 __He pushed a hand through his hair. They had been through this over and over the night before and twice so far today. Now they were going through it one more time as they waited for sundown. Then they would set out.

What had made him think that he was in any way prepared to rob a house? His grandmother would be rolling in her grave.

Either that, or she would be pleased that someone was going to restore dragons to her family. Perhaps this was more likely, he decided.

"We meet on deck at sundown," Stannis told Wex. Then he went in search of Davos.

He found the smuggler in his quarters, studying his maps.

"Ready to go?" Davos asked.

"Yes." Stannis stood before him, hands behind his back. He was not sure what sort of gesture was expected in a situation like this. Ought he to kiss him? Davos hadn't looked up from his maps.

"Well, good luck. I cannot say I think it a good idea, but I trust Wex and I trust you." Davos pushed the map aside and came around the table. The dim light cast shadows on his face. "I will just give you this before you go." He slipped his arms around Stannis' neck and kissed him long and slow. Heat shot through Stannis. Davos' mouth was warm and inviting he found he didn't want to leave at all.

Then Davos stepped back. Stannis half-followed before he realized how foolish it was. Davos smiled.

"Be safe, Stannis, that's all I ask."

Stannis nodded curtly. "I will." He cupped Davos' cheek in his good hand and kissed him one last time. _If I give into this maudlin foolishness, I will never go.  
_   
Wex was waiting for him when he climbed through the hatch and they set off. Walking through the darkened streets was a different matter entirely from doing so in broad daylight. Stannis felt more on his guard and he was glad for steel at his side. Every shadow seemed longer, to have a thief lurking in it.

 _But we are thieves_ , thought Stannis, looking at Wex. He was no older than Stannis himself, and he had already managed to build himself a housebreaking career while Stannis had been learning how to run a castle.

"When did you learn housebreaking?" Stannis asked abruptly.

Wex shrugged. "I guess I always knew. My father did it, long as I can remember. He was glad when I came along because I could fit through windows."

Stannis tried to imagine his lord father boosting him and Robert through windows. "But you gave that life up?"

Wex nodded. "The gold cloaks were after me, see. They'd got Father a few years before. They chased me down to the docks, and the captain was there. He told them I was his man. They let me go and I joined the crew to make an honest living."

Stannis didn't mention that smuggling was hardly an honest living. "When I am returned to Storm's End, you shall have a place in my household. You all shall."

"Thanks. Doing what?"

Stannis didn't have an immediate answer. "Something should come to mind." He stopped. They had reached the entrance to the alley which ran behind Master Jaxos' manse. "We are here."

"Right," Wex said. "Over the wall and into the tree." To Stannis' surprise, he took a running leap and easily scaled the wall. Hanging from the top from one hand, he reached down to help Stannis scrabble his way up the wall. Then, he swung his legs easily over the top and leapt in to the tree. It rustled momentarily, making the gate guard look up. Stannis held his breath, gingerly swung his legs through the spikes on top of the wall and followed Wex into the tree.

They didn't speak. Wex was watching the guard and once he looked away, he dropped silently out of sight. Stannis followed, feeling like he had landed with all the grace of a buffalo in plate armor as the coins jangled in his money pouch.

Another moment of waiting passed before Wex dashed into the next shadow. Stannis followed, holding his purse in one hand and his sword in the other so it wouldn't crash against his legs.

"Oh, this is too easy," Wex muttered as they stood in the shadow of the house. "One story. Almost feel sorry for the poor fellow. Surprised he's not been robbed before." Wex's eyes alighted on a drainpipe meant to funnel water off the flat roof and into the garden. He scrambled up it, nimbly as a monkey, and thankfully, without being asked, dropped the rope so Stannis could drag himself up.

"That was easy enough." Wex crossed the roof calmly as though they strolling down the beach. "First airshaft past the courtyard?"

Stannis nodded.

They approached it cautiously. The airshaft had a very narrow opening—it was protected by a metal roof from the rain and was covered with a grate. Wex pulled a crowbar from his sack and set to prying it off. "There now," he said, sounding satisfied. "Boots off, cloak off, belt off. Then I think you can fit through."

Stannis stared at him as though he hadn't heard him.

"Well, I can't go," Wex said. "I haven't been in the room. Besides, you'll make it. You're skinny enough."

Stannis looked down at himself. He had gained back much of the weight he'd lost in the siege, but he was still broader than Wex.

"Come on," Wex urged. "We can't be here all night."

"Fine." With some trepidation, Stannis unclasped his cloak and handed it to Wex, followed by his swordbelt.

As he pulled his boots off, Wex explained, "I always went house-breaking barefoot. Don't make as much noise, you see. You wearing quiet clothes?"

Stannis looked down at himself in his roughspun jerkin and patched breeches. There wasn't hope of a metal button or clasp. He nodded.

Wex gestured grandly at the narrow hole. "In you go, then."

Stannis took a moment to decide whether to go in feet first or head first. He decided feet first would be best. He could use the roof to control his descent until he had to let go.

Stannis sat on the edge of the roof and eased his feet through the opening, followed by his legs. The shaft turned just then and he bent his knees, inching forward until all of him was through. Wex seized his wrists to help lower him the rest of the way.

Then he let go.

Stannis slid out of the bend rear-first, forcing his legs over his head. He scrabbled for purchase on the walls, but his shortened fingers could not get a hold. He was very nearly all the way out before he managed to throw his elbows and feet out and stop his descent.

"You all right down there, Stannis?" Wex hissed.

Stannis glowered up the shaft. He was about to make a scathing reply when he heard footsteps. He froze. He was mere inches from the end of the air shaft; he could only pray he was not hanging partly out of it.

The footsteps got ever closer. Stannis held his breath. Surely whoever it was could hear his pounding heartbeat. He prayed to the Seven to keep Wex from speaking again.

Master Jaxos himself passed through the corridor directly beneath Stannis. _Please let him not decide to look up. Father, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, Smith, whoever is watching, let him not look up.  
_   
Master Jaxos paused. The blood was rushing to Stannis' head. He had to move. His feet in his wool stockings were beginning to slip, and Stannis felt his whole body start to slide. He closed his eyes. _At least if I die, let it be swift, let Davos not mourn me, let him steal Renly away and bring him up as his own.  
_   
The footsteps resumed until they gradually faded and a door slammed in the distance. Stannis could not hold out any longer. He slipped from the airshaft and landed hard in a heap on the floor.

Stannis expected guards to come running at any moment, but in the time it took him to catch his breath, there was no one. He sat up, rubbing his head. He might have a lump in the morning, but at least he had eluded capture. He got to his feet, straightening his rumpled clothes. It was no matter at all to walk to the room where the eggs would be.

He opened the door slowly. It was dark and deserted, the display cases and suits of armor throwing weird shadows around the room. Stannis crept cautiously around the room, looking for anything that might be dragon eggs.

At first he considered a jagged rock before dismissing it as the sort of thing Maester Cressen had once told him and Robert about, something that fell from the skies.

He passed more oddments—a animal skull he could not identify, a brooch of black stone, a golden sword—before he saw them.

Three glittering eggs were arranged on a pillow. Stannis shoved them quickly into his sack and left the room. It would not do to linger, even though the treasures might have fascinated him had he encountered them in any other circumstances.

"Wex," he hissed up the air shaft. "Rope."

"Thought you'd never ask." The rope dropped in his view and Stannis tied the sack to it. He gave it a tug and it vanished up the shaft, bumping gently against the walls. A few minutes later, the rope reappeared and Stannis jumped up to grab it, shimmying his way up into the shaft.

Then he heard a shout in Valyrian. "Oi, what are you doing?"

Stannis did not even bother looking. "We are found out," he yelled up the shaft. The guard rushed forward and grabbed at Stannis' feet, just as he hauled himself out of the way.

Wex yanked on the rope and Stannis half-climbed and was half-dragged onto the roof, leaving the guard below holding one of his stockings. He forced his feet into his boots and grabbed his cloak and swordbelt. Wex was already at the edge of the roof and leaping out of sight. Stannis sprinted after him and followed.

It was a short drop into the garden, though the landing jarred his teeth, and he could not even pause to regain his bearings until he was pelting headlong for the wall.

Some guards, running towards the initial shout of alarm, paused when they saw Stannis.

"Go to the master!" he shouted at them in his awkward Valyrian. "The master is in danger."

They took off toward the house and Stannis thanked the Seven for the shadows. Wex was already at the tree and Stannis followed, throwing himself into the branches. They tore at his clothes and caught at the burden in his arms, but he managed to shove it over the wall before following himself. He joined Wex in the alley and they both slumped to catch their breaths.

"Can't stay here," Wex said, shouldering the sack. "They'll be out soon enough."

Stannis nodded, his hands feeling weak as he buckled his belt and fastened his cloak. "Come then."

"Well, that was fun," Wex said, once they were several streets away. He swung the sack jauntily. "Glad to do a bit of housebreaking if I'm honest. Been too long."

Stannis could not say he wanted to do that again.

Davos was on deck when they returned. Stannis had to suppress the urge to catch him up in his arms. Now he knew how Robert had felt returning triumphantly from a hunt.

"We must leave," he said. "We were seen. The theft will be noticed."

Davos nodded. "I feared that may be the case. Merrett, is everyone on board?"

"All accounted for, captain." The first mate was grinning. "But I take it you were successful?"

Wex held up the sack and handed it to Stannis. "You ought to hold onto this. Worth more to you then me."

The children were crowded round the ladder when Stannis descended it.

"Did you get them?" Allard asked eagerly.

"Let me see!" Maric reached for the sack.

"Come, I will show you." He led them into Davos' quarters and made a grand show of emptying the sack onto the table. The eggs rolled out and the children exclaimed in delight.

"They're pretty." Maric reached for one.

"Are they really dragon eggs, Lyo—Stannis?" Dale asked.

"Aye, the true thing."

"And baby dragons will hatch from them?" Matthos was cradling one lovingly in his arms. "Can't we keep just one? I should like a baby dragon."

"We live in a wooden ship, stupid," Allard said.

"Do not call your brother stupid," Davos said, as he stepped into the room. He smiled at Stannis. "I take it you were successful?" He tousled Maric's hair. "Be careful with those, sweetling. They are not toys for you; they are meant for the king."

"Are we safe?" he asked Davos.

He nodded. "I am not a smuggler for nothing. The city watch was out by the time we pulled away, but we slipped safely away."

"Good." Stannis could not help but smile at Davos and Davos smiled back. He was on the verge of having everything that was ever meant to be his.

The children were much too excited to sleep, but Davos soon declared it was time for bed anyway.

"When you lay your head down and close your eyes, you will soon find sleep waiting for you," he said, as he scooped Maric up. Stannis followed; it was not his custom but tonight he found he wanted to be involved.

"And in the morning, we will be back out at sea, sailing our way home." Davos opened the door to the boys' room and laid Maric on the lower bunk.

Stannis shut the door. "And when we get there, you will not need to all cram in here. We will live in a castle and there will be room for all of us."

"We will?" Matthos asked. "No more ship?"

"We can go sailing, certainly." Stannis sat on the floor next to the bunks. "My lord grandfather taught me all he knew of sailing, and your father has taught me still more. It is only right for you boys to be sailors in your own right, and it is something I plan to teach me brother."

"Your brother?" Dale asked.

 _What fine companions I will bring home to Renly._ "Aye, my brother. He is six, and he will surely love to play with all of you. The time is coming soon when he will begin learning the art of swordsmanship, and you may learn it too if your father wishes. And you will certainly learn to read and write and figure sums."

"Really?"

"Really. It is the least reward I can offer for all your father has done for me." He took Davos' hand, running his thumb over the back. He received a squeeze in return.

"And now I will tell you a story," Davos said. "About a good knight who came upon a maiden in need of saving."

The tale was a religious one Stannis recognized from his childhood septa, though the emphasis in Davos' version was not on dry morality, but on heroic deeds. The boys dropped off one by one to the point where Stannis wondered if Davos had put some kind of soporific in their cup of water.

"There now," Davos said, tucking the blanket in around Maric. "Even after all that excitement." He smiled at Stannis as he rose. They left the room and shut the door gently. "You will have planted dreams of glory in their heads if they think they will train to be swordsmen."

"They will," Stannis said confidently. He led the way back to Davos' quarters. "I must come up with something suitable. For you as well."

Davos laughed. "Do you really think I would be able to be anything more than a smuggler?"

"I am sure." Stannis clasped Davos' shoulder. "You have proven your worth to me, and I am forever in your debt, Davos. I can only begin to make that up to you." He kissed him. "Just tell me how."

"I want nothing, Stannis." Davos' arms went around his waist. "Nothing save this. You and the children. Including your brother."

"I will find something," Stannis murmured into his hair. "A knighthood?"

Davos laughed, a pleasurable sensation against his chest. "Whoever heard of an illiterate lowborn knight?" He ran his fingers through Stannis' hair. "I want for nothing."

"But I want to give it."

The kiss to his neck made him shiver. "Then I will gratefully accept." Davos' fingers trailed tantalizingly down Stannis' chest. "But now there is something I should like to give you."

"What?"

Davos laughed and pushed gently on Stannis' hips. "Sit. You deserve a reward for your gallant deeds this night."

Stannis sat on the bed. "Thieving is hardly gallant."

Davos dropped to his knees, not breaking eye contact. "So you would refuse my gift?" His hand drifted to the laces of Stannis' breeches.

Stannis swallowed hard. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears. "No. Never."

Davos only smiled.


	23. Renly VIII

Renly's only regret about dying was that he wouldn't be able to help Stannis when he returned. Instead, Stannis would return to find they'd killed Renly and then all of them would meet justice. 

That was a small comfort, though, because truly deep down Renly didn't want to die. _I'll be with Robert_ , he thought. _With Mother and Father._

 __He had vowed not to fall asleep, but found himself blinking awake when the door was opened. It was Ser Alliser, Ser Cyrian, and Viserys.

"Renly," said Ser Cyrian gravely. Renly got up. His head was held high, his jaw set. He was a Baratheon, heir to Storm's End. He said nothing, so Ser Cyrian went on. 

"Prince Viserys has graciously decided to spare you further punishment on one condition."

"What is it?" He was through with courtesy. He was through with all of it. They had whittled it away until all the was left was the fury.

Viserys stepped forward. Renly remembered the last time he'd seen him; he'd been crying. Now he looked as angry as Renly felt. "You will accompany me to King's Landing, Renly. I think it's time you visited your brother's head."

Renly felt like he was falling. It was like killing Robert all over again, to think about how his head was still on a spike outside the Red Keep. He wondered if it still resembled Robert. He thought of Robert's laughing eyes, his deep voice, tried to picture him cold and dead and still, like the dead men Renly had seen during the siege. 

He couldn't even imagine the head separated from the body.

But all he said was, "Yes, my lord prince."

A lot of preparations went into going to King's Landing, but none of them involved Renly. No one tried to make him go to lessons or to the training yard. He went to meals, but nobody spoke to him. The other boys kept throwing glances at him, and Beric smiled at him once, but that was it, and Renly didn't dare speak to him. He didn't want to get Beric into any trouble. He slipped through the castle like a ghost, treading the same stones that generations of Baratheons and Storm Kings had, wondering if Stannis would ever be back.

Early in the morning on the appointed day, the party riding to King's Landing gathered in the yard. Renly was given the use of a gentle gray pony. His heart thudded in his chest, having long forgotten his desire for a pony, but he knew it was not to be his.

"No trouble out of you," Ser Alliser said sternly, before going over to his own mount. Renly gripped the reins and released a breath. He was patient. He could wait to make trouble.

While Ser Cyrian was conferring with Ser Alliser, Renly noticed Maester Cressen approaching. He looked away. 

"Good luck, Renly," he said gently. "I know it will be hard, but I know you will be brave enough to face it." He reached up and squeezed Renly's hand tightly. When it came away, there was something in Renly's palm. He looked down.

It was a seal bearing the crowned stag.

Renly looked up, but Maester Cressen was already leaving. He wanted to say something, but somehow, he knew that would only call attention to himself. He carefully tucked the seal away. He could never let anyone find it.

Renly had never ridden far from Storm's End. He'd been riding in the woods, and he'd traveled by ship, but he'd never ridden on the Kingsroad. It was sort of pleasant to be out in the fresh air, in the sun-dappled wood. But Renly knew what lay ahead of them and those thoughts filled his mind. How could he stand up to Robert's head?

Maybe there was another option.

That night, they made camp. Renly watched the servants set up tents. He was to sleep in one with Viserys and Ser Alliser.

He waited until they were both asleep. Viserys fell asleep first; Renly could hear his breathing even not long after they got into their bedrolls. The problem was Ser Alliser. Renly couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. Once, he sat up, only to hear a voice growl, "Go to sleep, Ser Fawn."

Renly flopped back down on his bedroll and reached into his pocket for the seal. He ran his thumb over the raised form of the crowned stag. Brave knights always had tokens. This would be his. He had not meant to fall asleep, but he did. When he awoke, the moonlight had shifted. Hours had passed.

Ser Alliser let out a snore.

Renly pushed his blanket back and got up. No one moved. He crept carefully to the door of the tent. There were two guards there. He stepped out.

"Where do you think you're going?" one of them asked.

"I have to _go_ ," Renly whispered urgently.

"Go on then." The guard jabbed a finger at the woods.

Renly stepped behind a tree and watched the guard. As soon as he looked away, Renly took off. He didn't know where he was going, but _away_ was good enough. Twigs scratched his face and caught in his hair. He tripped over a tree root and went down, but then he got back up and kept going. Suddenly, he became aware of someone crashing through the brush behind him. Renly ran faster, clutching at the stitch in his side.

"Come back, boy!" Ser Alliser roared.

Renly's foot caught on a rock and he slammed hard into a sticker bush. He flailed, fighting to get out of it before he felt the heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Did you really think you could get away?" he snarled.

"I thought I could try," Renly snapped.

Ser Alliser just jerked him in front of him.

When Ser Alliser dragged Renly back into the tent, Viserys sat up, blinking blearily.

"Renly, where were you?"

"Tried to run away," Ser Alliser said, shoving him forward.

Viserys scowled at him. "It seems this trip could not come soon enough."

The next morning, it rained. Renly's gentle pony plodded through the mud of the Kingsroad and raindrops beat on the hood of his cloak. He hated himself for being slow, for being small with short legs. Why couldn't he be a man grown? Had he been a man grown, he might have been with Robert on the Trident and saved him, or led the garrison beside Stannis when the Tyrells went over the walls.

He tried again to conjure up Robert's face in his mind. How was it different from Stannis'? He wanted to remember before he saw the head. He came up with a strong chin, a mouth that was always laughing, and the thought that he missed his brothers more than anything else.

It rained for days, and for days they plodded along. Renly gave no more thought to running away. He wasn't fast enough, he didn't know where he was, and the rain would make all of that all the worse.

Eventually, the woods began to thin around them and Renly heard the rushing of water. They had reached the Blackwater Rush. Through the fog, Renly could see the walls of the city rising up before them. Despite his determination to hate everything about the Targaryens including their city, he could not help the sense of awe. He had never been to King's Landing, but Stannis and Robert had. It was even bigger than they'd told him. Renly stared at the city as they were ferried across the river. He was hardly aware of the rushing water swirling around the barge, threatening to rip it away.

"My forebear, Aegon the Conqueror, built this city," Viserys said proudly. "So that all the other lords might know his might. Here is where he and his sisters landed with their dragons and from there, all the seven kingdoms knelt to them."

 _Not the Storm Kings_ , Renly thought, and he also didn't say that he was just as much a descendent of Aegon as was Viserys. And he had the blood of the Storm Kings in him, too, brave Argillac who had died on the field of battle like Robert, and Argella who had determined to hold out like Stannis. Renly clutched the outline of the seal which was tucked into his clothes. The crowned stag had been theirs. Orys had taken his wife's sigil out of respect for her. _I have as much right to be a prince as you do_ , Renly thought as he watched Ser Alliser help Viserys off the barge.

Renly had never seen so many people as there were in the streets of the capital. They crowded around the party, hoping to get a glimpse of Prince Viserys. Ser Alliser drew his sword to try to make them disperse. No one paid attention to Renly.

The streets wound their way up to the top of Aegon's Hill where the Red Keep sat, its red stone walls glistening in the rain.

"Hurry up," Viserys said. "I want to show Renly his traitor brother's head."

"It will have to wait, my lord prince," Ser Alliser said. "You must be tired from your long journey and you won't want to go out in the rain." 

"Very well," Viserys said lazily. "I suppose I should like to see Mother and Father, as well."

They dismounted and turned the reins over to stablehands, and Renly bid good-bye to the pony. He rubbed her nose one last time and she snuffed at him.

"Come on, boy." Ser Alliser wrenched him toward Maegor's Holdfast.

Renly wasn't allowed into the great hall for supper, which didn't bother him because it was an escape from Viserys. He ate alone with Ser Bertram and was then sent to bed, though he couldn't sleep. He was too overwhelmed by thoughts of what the next day would bring.

 _I'll be brave_ , he thought, rubbing his thumb over the seal again as he lay in bed. _I'm a proud stag.  
_   
When he at last fell asleep, he dreamed that Robert had returned to Storm's End. It was a sunny day, spring, Renly supposed, though he had never seen spring. Robert had just ridden in through the gates and he leapt down from his charger, calling for the castle's defenders. Renly ran to him and threw himself into his arms. Maester Cressen was there, and even Stannis was smiling. Robert swung Renly up onto his shoulders.

This was real and everything else had been a dream. Nobody was going anywhere.

And then Robert's head came off in his hands.

Renly woke up screaming, tangled up in his bedsheets on the floor.

The rain had stopped, which was a small comfort. Renly forced himself to eat breakfast, though, because he could not waste food it was a struggle to bring his fork to his mouth and he feared he would be sick.

Viserys chattered excitedly as they made their way through the corridors. Renly tried to walk as slow as he could without being yelled at to hurry up.

"This is for you own good, boy," Ser Alliser said, as he opened the door to the battlements. Renly could see the spikes a few feet away. His stomach was fluttering. He could no longer hear what Viserys was saying. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

The spikes were between the crenels, above Renly's head. Viserys skipped ahead of them, like he was excited to show Renly a new toy. "The rebel is here."

Renly's gaze swung upward unbidden. Robert's head had been dipped in pitch and Renly could see nothing of his brother left behind.

 _It's not him_ , he thought suddenly. _He's not dead.  
_   
"Look," Viserys demanded. He pinched Renly's arm. "That's what happens to rebels and traitors, Renly. If you don't want to end up like that, you'll do what I say."

Renly was saved from having to look at the head by the film of tears that covered his vision.

Viserys didn't stop, though. "There are empty spikes," he said. "When they find your brother Stannis, they'll put his head right there. I hope we'll get to watch as Ser Ilyn takes off his head."

Red hot rage exploded in front of Renly's vision. He lunged at Viserys, but Ser Alliser grabbed his left arm. Without even thinking, Renly's right hand went to his boot. In one smooth motion that Ser Alliser ought to have been proud of, Renly drew Robert's knife and slashed it across Ser Alliser's wrist. Blood seeped out and Ser Alliser let go. Renly ran. 

"Murder! Murder!" Viserys screamed. Ser Bertram opened the door to see what was the matter and Renly slipped right past him. 

He had gotten enough of a head start that no one tried to stop him as he tore down the stairs and through the corridors. Servants jumped out of his way, and Renly fancied that he looked like a fierce warrior, running through the castle with a bloody blade. They must have been afraid to lay a hand on him. He burst out into the yard, headed straight for the castle gates. He would fight his way out if he had to.

"Stop him!" a voice shouted. "Stop the boy!"

Renly ran faster now. He could see the gates now and they were, blessedly, _open_. A wagon train bearing food was passing through them.

Renly ran faster, as much as his legs were protesting.

"Stop! Stop!" Men were hurrying to block his way through the gates, but Renly had the advantage of not caring what happened to him. He ducked between a horse and the man leading it, narrowly escaping its hoofs as it reared. This stopped his pursuers and Renly scooted past the wagon wheels and out into freedom.

He could not stop though. The horses and wagon blocking the gate would buy him some time, but there would be other ways out. He hurtled down Shadowblack Lane, his feet slipping on the cobbles. A few times, he lost his footing entirely and tumbled a few feet before stumbling back upright. He took the first turning, and then a second and a third. Out on the main thoroughfare, he heard the gold cloaks run by but he didn't stop. Before long, the ground had leveled out and when he looked behind him, he saw the Red Keep looming above him on Aegon's High Hill. There wasn't a gold cloak in sight.

"Out of the way, boy," said a voice and a woman shoved past him, her arms full of washing. Renly stepped aside and was suddenly struck by how quiet his surroundings were. No men shouting for him to be caught, no Viserys yelling about waking the dragon. Even that woman had forgotten him. Renly looked down at himself. His fine clothes were torn and filthy from his many trips to the ground. His hair must have been wild, and he knew he needed a bath. He was indistinguishable from one of the filthy urchins he'd seen on their ride into the city.

He felt for the lump of the seal in his clothes and felt a rush of reassurance when he found it. He was free. He could go anywhere and do anything. No one would stop him. Here in the city, they would never find him. There were too many people.

He wiped Robert's knife clean on his trouser leg and sheathed it once more. _I've drawn my first blood_ , he thought. It gave him courage. He would find his way out of the city and make his way to Stannis in Essos. 

He walked casually to the mouth of the alley and joined the throngs. The crush of people carried him through the streets. He didn't know where he was or where he was going but the further he got from Aegon's Hill, the better.


	24. Davos VII

"May I come in?" 

Davos looked up. Stannis was standing awkwardly in the doorway to his cabin, the sack containing his few possessions slung over his shoulder. Davos smiled and looked up from his maps. "Of course."

Stannis looked about uncertainly and then stepped in, letting the door close behind him. They had taken on a passenger when they had docked after their flight from Slaver's Bay, and Stannis' quarters had been turned over to their intended purpose of housing passengers. Which had meant Stannis had had to find new sleeping quarters. 

"Put your things down, Stannis," Davos said gently. "Make yourself comfortable." 

Davos watched as Stannis put his clothes away and hung up his sword. Then he turned to look at Davos expectantly. 

Davos rose and took both of his hands in his. "Thank you for joining me, Stannis." He kissed him.

That made Stannis at last relax. He pulled Davos closer, which brought a smile to his face. He relished any kind of move from Stannis. "Surely you did not mean for me to take your suggestion of bunking with the rest of the crew."

"No, I confess I had an ulterior motive in mind."

Stannis tilted his chin up for another kiss. "I like the idea. Going to bed with you each evening, waking up with you in the morning." 

It was an appealing image. "For that, we will have to go to bed."

Stannis only smiled.

**

The crossing was miraculously free of storms, which helped Davos' mood. Having Stannis in his bed spoiled him. They were bound for Lys, for that was their passenger's destination, and Davos counted each day spent with Stannis and the children as precious for once they got to King's Landing, everything would change, though Davos knew not how. It was a trap, he knew. _I want him in my bed and in my life. But he does not want that. My bed perhaps but not my life.  
_  
The children seemed to take in stride that Stannis now occupied Davos' quarters. Only Dale asked the question.

"Father, do you like Stannis?"

"Yes." He had wanted to answer honestly, and he knew there was no hiding things from his shrewd young son. 

Dale nodded; clearly, he had already thought at length about this. "I'm glad," he said. "You're happy when you're around him. And we like him, too." 

Davos smoothed Dale's hair. "Thank you, Dale. That is very important to me." 

The weeks ticked away blissfully, the only sense that they were headed west the rising cold in the air. They docked in Lys early in the evening, and once Davos was finished with business, he went to find Stannis who was putting the children to bed.

"…and when the Princess Rhaelle came of age, she and Ormund were married."

"What happened next?" Maric asked sleepily.

Stannis paused in tucking the blankets around him. "They were happy for quite a long while." 

"Was that a story of your own invention?" Davos asked when they had closed the door.

"They were my grandparents."

"Ah." Davos was uncomfortably reminded of the gulf that lay between them, that which had been so easy to forget when Stannis was snuggled up close against the cold. _Would that he was truly Lyonel Storm. A bastard could be my lover better than a princess's grandson._ He shook his head. Lingering too long in these thoughts was dangerous. "You have not had supper yet, have you?"

"No. You told me not to."

Davos grinned. "Then come. I want to show you one of my favorite places."

There was a crisp chill to the air as they left the docks. Davos wished it could always be like this, going from port to port, always being strangers. What would it be like to live in one place? For that was what Stannis had in mind. He had said he wanted the boys to learn to sail but surely he didn't intend them to be proper sailors.

Davos led Stannis up the winding hill to his favorite inn. Just the thought of a good hot Lysene meal was making his mouth water.

"You will like it," he told Stannis as he pulled the door open. "I would be failing in my duty if I did not bring you here." As soon as they stepped inside, the chill of the evening was replaced by the warmth of a bustling tavern.

"Captain Davos!" exclaimed the girl at the door. "I had heard you sailed to the other side of the world!"

Davos laughed. "Only Slaver's Bay. And we are back now." He nodded toward the stairs. "Is there a seat upstairs for us?"

"Certainly." She smiled at Stannis. "Any friend of the captain's is a friend of ours."

They climbed the stairs and Davos chose a booth at the back. He ordered wine for himself and water for Stannis, and whatever was good for supper. A moment later, she was back, bearing a tray with two steaming plates of spiced chicken and rice.

They made idle talk as they ate—about the weather, the journey, the children. It had been a long time since Stannis had specifically brought up his plans for the future; he had not talked any more about what Davos' reward would be.

Perhaps this would be a moment he could hold onto when everything else had changed. Because Stannis would have commitments beyond Davos if he was restored to Storm's End. Perhaps he should concentrate on making the most of what he had.

Gingerly, Stannis extended his right hand across the table and Davos slid his over it, curling his fingers around the stumps. Stannis gave him a small smile and Davos began planning the rest of their evening. Would they do anything after supper or could they go straight to bed from here?

"Davos!" The familiar voice calling his name nearly made him drop his fork. He let go of Stannis' hand.

"Salla!" Davos forced a smile.

Salladhor Saan was swaggering toward him, grinning. "You are in Lys and you did not call on Salladhor Saan?"

"Really, Salla, we just got here."

Salla slid in next to Stannis without looking at him. "No matter. I have found you now and—" He seemed to notice Stannis. "Davos, I thought you were getting rid of him."

"He did," Stannis said icily. "He found me again."

"I see." Salla's eyes were on their hands. Even though Davos had let go, Stannis' hand was still on the table, a few inches from Davos'. The truth could not possibly be lost on a man as astute as Salla, who knew what he knew about Davos.

"Salla," Davos said warningly. They were far back from observation, but Davos knew well enough that Salla could be loud, especially when he found something of which he disapproved. It was not Stannis' sex that was the issue, but Stannis himself.

Salla held up his hands. "Did I say anything, Davos? You are suspicious in your old age." He turned to look at Stannis. "You must have a tale to tell, my lord."

Stannis went back to his supper. "Golden Company did not prove successful. I found a position with Davos instead."

"Aye, and may I ask what position?" Salla's eyes were alight with glee and Davos fought the urge to hide under the table.

"That of bodyguard," Stannis answered obliviously. "I protected Davos as he did business in Slaver's Bay."

"Ah, yes." Salla stroked his beard. "I heard about that. For a man in Pentos, was it? Did you succeed?"

Stannis and Davos exchanged glances. Was it better to tell Salla the truth or run the risk that he might figure it out himself? There was little hiding things from him.

Stannis shifted his rice with his fork. "He refused Magister Illyrio's deal."

"Ah. You returned empty-handed, then?"

"Not exactly."

Salla's eyebrows rose into his hair. "Is the lordling now a lawbreaker? Will you be taking justice on yourself?"

Stannis scowled and took another bite of chicken. "It was in service of a greater justice."

"Salla," Davos said warningly. The pirate was his dearest friend, but he didn't like seeing Stannis baited. Especially because he knew full well he would always rise to it.

"No," Stannis said. "I am going to tell him." He wore a satisfied smirk. "I am going to win back Storm's End by delivering dragon eggs to Rhaegar Targaryen."

This appeared not to have occurred to Salla. "You are aware he calls himself king now?"

"Even better. I will not have to deal with the father. He will have no choice when he sees what I have."

Salla chuckled. "Oh, my lord, but there is always a choice. The king will take one look at you, seize your eggs, and chop off your head. Or your hands. Or send you to the crows."

Stannis scowled. "That will not happen."

"Perhaps, perhaps. But I did not get where I am by demanding things of kings."

Stannis looked up. At first Davos thought he might snap back, but instead he said, "And what would you suggest?"

Salla looked genuinely surprised to have been asked. "Are you truly asking? Or only to appease certain other parties?"

Davos busied himself sipping his wine. "I take no part in this," he said. "Certainly I support you, Stannis, but the choice is all yours." 

"Well," Salla said, reaching for a piece of bread from the platter in the center of the table, "if you will truly listen to me—" Stannis nodded "—I would advise you to present it as a gift. Humble yourself." When he saw Stannis' lip curl in distaste, he said, "It will change nothing about you if you bow to the king. Do you want to revive your brother's rebellion? What allies do you have besides our esteemed smuggler?"

"None."

"What reasons besides some notion of honor do you have for not bowing to the king?"

There was a long pause. Stannis took a bite of chicken and chewed. "None," he said at last. "I want Storm's End back for more than my honor. For my family. It is in my blood. I descend from the union of Argella and Orys, the joining of old and new. There is no one else who has as much right to have it."

Salla nodded. "Believe it or not, I do understand that. My family has always been pirates and there is pride to that."

"So I will go crawling back."

"Don't put it that way. What would have happened if your brother had never rebelled? You would be kneeling to your king, would you not? If you do not want to kneel to a king, stay with Davos." Salla's eyes glittered. "And kneel to only one king."

Stannis' ears went red, but he did not rise to that bait either. "You are right, Saan. Do not expect me to say that again." There was a half-smile. "There are always things we must do that we would rather not. I will make a gift and pray the king gives me back what ought to be mine."

They left the inn together, as Davos thought it seemed as though their evening was over. Stannis' face was grim as he took back their cloaks and his sword from where he'd been made to leave it at the door.

They moved through the city, Salla the interloper still with them. Davos mourned the loss of their evening alone, with the full knowledge that they might never have another. As they traveled into a marketplace lit with lanterns, Stannis gravitated to a bookstall.

"Well," Salla said now that they were alone.

"Well, what?"

"What do you see in him?" He nodded his head at Stannis who had his nose buried in a book.

"He's a good man. He cares for the children."

"And you have no business getting involved with a lordling. He isn't for you, Davos. What will become of you when he is lord of his own castle?"

"He's not going to send me to the Wall."

"No, I think not. But you might find yourself stuck as a lord's bedwarmer for the rest of your days."

"I know my own mind, Salla."

Salla looked skeptical. Davos pushed past him to join Stannis at the bookstall. "What have you found?"

"A history of the Storm Kings. Of course we have this at the library at Storm's End, but..." Stannis shrugged. "A second copy can't hurt."

They bid farewell to Salla, refusing an invitation to sup the next evening at his manse.

"We must be on our way," Davos explained. Salla was studying his face, but thankfully he stayed silent.

Salla bowed graciously, sweeping his ridiculous hat off his head. "Fare well, my lord. If you ever have need of a pirate, don't hesitate to call upon Salladhor Saan."

Stannis nodded curtly. Davos turned to go, but Salla reached for Stannis' arm. "A word, my lord." He released him a moment later and they set off.

"He is a good friend to you," Stannis told him.

Davos nodded. "Aye, a good one."

The rest of their walk back to the ship was quiet.

"Something is troubling you," Stannis declared once they were back in their quarters. It was late and Davos had been hoping to go right to sleep without having to discuss it.

"Just nerves," Davos explained. "I am afraid to think of you confronting a madman."

Stannis shook his head. "No, Rhaegar is not the madman. I won't fear for my life." He slipped his arms around Davos. "I must do this. We have come all this way; how can I stop now?"

"I know." Davos paused. "And I know this is your life. Perhaps I just cannot picture myself in it."

Stannis nodded. "You will be able to," he said, though he sounded weary. "I think you shall have a knighthood. Would you like me to knight you, Davos?"

Davos twined his fingers in his hair. "My wife had a saying. 'Seeds do not a crop make.' Do not get too far ahead of yourself."

Stannis considered this. "Aye, you are right. I shall be prepared for any outcome. But do allow me some hope."

Davos smiled. "I would never dream of anything else." He reached up to caress his face. "I have complete faith in you."

"Good." Stannis kissed him. "It pleases me to think of giving you a good life."

"My life is good."

"Better, then."

Davos simply nodded. There was no point in pursuing the matter further; Stannis would not be turned from his goal. He half-cursed Salla for reinforcing the idea.

Once again, he hoped for a slow journey.


	25. Stannis X

Stannis sat in the crow's nest as they passed through the mouth of Blackwater Bay. The wind was cool and he was wrapped tightly in his cloak, but he had wanted to see the city come into view with his own eyes. There was the Red Keep, looming high on Aegon's Hill. He had not been to King's Landing since he was a boy, and his memories were still a child's-eye view of the city. The walls did not seem so high now that he was a man grown, come to parley with the king, rather than stare up in awe at the Hand.

The Mud Gate was crowded with ships and people, and as they docked, he climbed down and headed for the cabin he shared with Davos.

"When can we go in the city?" Matthos asked as he entered.

"Later, sweetling," Davos said. "After Stannis has spoken with the king."

"Aye," Stannis agreed, kneeling at the foot of the bed. "After I have made my presentation, you will all come up to the castle. Or I will return to you, if the king does not wish for you to be presented."

He dug into Davos' trunk and pulled the last of the dragon eggs from beneath Marya's best tablecloth. Maric was still holding the one that had been under the boys' bed; Dale had the enormously proud task of washing the one that had been in the flour barrel. Stannis hoped his dragonlord forbears would not look unkindly on the last hiding place.

"And then we'll all go to our very own castle?" Maric put his egg into the sack Stannis held open.

Stannis patted him on the head. "Yes." He ignored Davos' grim expression. He would see.

The door opened and Dale entered, carrying his egg as though it might break if he dropped it.

"Thank you." Stannis tied the sack shut. "That is the three of them."

"Are you going now?" Davos asked. He was watching them, arms crossed over his chest. 

"I am." Stannis shouldered his sack. "Do not worry. I will come back to you a lord." 

Davos stepped forward to kiss him softly on the lips. "Come back to me. That is all I want."

"Of course I will." Stannis bid good-bye to the boys and then left. He did not know why he was so reluctant to go. 

_This is the last time_ , he thought as he found himself once more navigating the press of people that made up a city's low streets. _When I am back here, I will be riding._ It made his strides longer to imagine how he might be returned to Storm's End. They might sail there in the _Marya_ , for Stannis had no ship of his own, but she would fly Baratheon banners.

But he could not let his mind completely desert him. He was carrying the most precious thing he'd ever been entrusted with and he could not lose the eggs to a thief on his way to the Red Keep.

"Stop that boy! Stop that thief."

At the word, Stannis tensed and when the figure shot past him, he reached out and seized the urchin by the hair.

"Let me go! Let me go! Take your filthy fucking hands off!"

"Thank you." The thief's pursuer was approaching, looking out of breath. "Snatched two of my apples, he did. Where are your parents, boy?"

"At the bottom of the sea." The child wrenched out of Stannis' grip, causing Stannis to actually look at him for the first time. It was Renly. His clothes were filthy, his hair hung in tangles around his face, but it was Renly, and he was looking up at Stannis, mouth open, just as disbelieving.

"Come on, boy, it's the gold cloaks for you." The apple-seller grabbed Renly by the arm, but Stannis seized the man's wrist, squeezing hard.

"That is my brother. Unhand him. I will pay you what he owes."

"Your brother?" The man looked confusedly between them. They must have painted quite the picture, with Stannis in his plain, but clean clothes, and Renly in his rumpled finery.

"Tell me how much," Stannis said simply, steel in his voice.

"A silver stag."

It could not have been that much but Stannis dipped into his money pouch and handed over the coin without another word. It was a small price to pay for having Renly back. 

Then he turned his attention back to the child before him.

"Stannis!" Renly launched himself at him and Stannis caught him up in his arms. "Stannis, what are you doing here?"

"I could just as well be asking you that."

Renly's next words were all but lost in a flood of tears. "You have to go, Stannis, you have to run. They're going to—to cut off your head," he wailed piteously.

"Shh," Stannis murmured, because they were starting to attract attention, namely in the form of disapproving glances from people who seemed to expect Stannis to be able to quiet his child. He dropped to his knees, holding Renly against his chest. "No one will hurt me."

"S-Ser Alliser will. A-and Rhaegar."

"I have something Rhaegar wants. I hope it will get us back Storm's End."

"What about Viserys?" Renly's voice wobbled less, though the sound of it was rather muffled by Stannis' jerkin which now had a large wet patch.

"What _about_ Viserys?" Stannis remembered vaguely that there was a little prince Renly's age, but because of the rift between his father and his cousin the king, they had never gotten together.

"They've given _him_ Storm's End, and oh, Stannis, he took my toys and he took my room—"

This gave Stannis pause, but he would need to speak with Rhaegar first. "When the king sees what I have, it will be ours again."

Renly looked up. "Truly?"

"Truly." He straightened up and set Renly on the ground. "I am on my way there now to present the gift. You must come with me." He briefly considered taking Renly back to the docks so that he might be safe with Davos, but that was too far out of their way. "Now you must tell me how you came to be here."

They set off toward Aegon's Hill, hand in hand. The story Renly related set the rage coursing through Stannis' blood, but he forced himself to temper it. _I must put it behind me_ , he thought. _I must pay my fealty and then I will take him home and never be bothered again. Then I will be able to tell Salladhor Saan I was courteous._  
  
He stopped outside the gates.

Renly looked up at him nervously. "Will they let you see the king?"

"I will ask." Stannis caught the eye of one of the guards. "I seek an audience with King Rhaegar!"

The man laughed. "You think you can just walk in and see the king?"

"My name is Stannis Baratheon and I seek to pay him fealty."

Renly squeezed his hand. "He's going to kill you."

"Shh."

The guards were in consultation with each other.

"He _was_ wanted alive," one said. They all turned to look at him.

"We'll take you to the Hand of the King," one said. Stannis and Renly proceeded through the postern gate and across the yard to the Hand's Tower.

 _Who occupies it, I wonder?_ If Rhaegar was in charge, he might have removed the rot from the small council.

They entered the tower and climbed the spiral staircase.

When the door to the Hand's solar, opened, Tywin Lannister rose from the desk.

"Well," he said. "This is quite the surprise."

Stannis bit back his first instinct. It did not matter now that Lord Tywin had refused to rise with Robert, even though he hated Aerys. It did not matter that Tywin's intervention might have prevented Robert's death.

All that mattered was the gift he carried and the duty that was bigger than himself.

"My lord," he said, "I have come to speak with the king."

"Anyone who wishes to speak with the king must speak with me first." He looked critically at Renly as though his very presence had made the room somewhat dirtier. "I see you have found Prince Viserys' missing companion."

Stannis tightened his grip on Renly's hand. "I found my brother, my lord."

"And the negotiations of men are no place for a child. If you wish to speak with me or the king, let him go back to his playmate."

Stannis looked down at Renly, who shook his head furiously.

"This is my solar, not a nursery. I am not going to entertain a child."

"I'll be quiet," Renly said firmly.

Lord Tywin glowered at him.

Stannis dropped to his knees. "Renly," he said in a low voice, "I know you have been treated terribly."

"He locked me in with Patchface."

He put his hands on Renly's shoulders and looked firmly into his blue eyes. "And I am sorry for it. It will never happen again. We will restore our family's honor, and you shall have new playmates. But first I must speak to Lord Tywin and to the king, and when I have finished I will have you fetched. You have endured much. You can spend one more afternoon with the prince."

Renly considered this. "All right," he said. He stepped away from Stannis. "I can handle one more afternoon."

One of the guards led Renly away. Stannis turned back to Tywin.

"Now." Tywin took a seat and waved Stannis into the chair across from his desk. "Why are you here? Last I heard, you were in exile, selling your sword."

"It disagreed with me."

"The consequences of a crime usually do disagree with the criminal."

Stannis took a deep breath to avoid rising to the bait. He thought of Davos to calm himself. _He would be proud of me._ "I wish to disavow my brother's treason and mine own. I did what I did only out of fraternal duty. Surely you can understand that, my lord."

If Tywin did, he did not show it.

"But now my brother is dead and I have no desire to continue what he started. I wish to kneel before the Iron Throne and pledge my fealty to the king." He was suddenly conscious of the weight of the sack against his leg, but he was not going to show the eggs to anyone but Rhaegar.

Tywin steepled his fingers. "I am sure the king would appreciate that. But court is not in session. We are preparing for a wedding. My daughter is to wed Prince Viserys."

"Congratulations, my lord." Stannis inclined his head to hide any expression that might have come unbidden at hearing of the match. "But I assure you I am eager to renounce my brother. I will accede to any public ceremony at the king's convenience, but I want the matter of the price on my head closed as soon as possible." He nudged the sack with his calf. _And I will not lay these out in full view of the court._  
  
Tywin looked thoughtful, but he rose. "I will inquire as to whether it would please the king to see you now."

Lord Tywin left Stannis with the guards and he went to the window to watch his progress across the courtyard to Maegor's Holdfast. Then he fell to pacing. It would not be long. He imagined going back triumphantly to Davos. _He does not hope for this life because he does not know it, but he will be happy to see me succeed._  
  
The door opened. Lord Tywin had returned. His expression was tight. "The king will see you."

Stannis took up the sack and followed Tywin to the royal apartments. He tried to tamp down any anxiety that the king might refused him. His hand tightened on the sack. _He cannot refuse dragon eggs. They are all the Targaryens have ever wanted and he well knows it._ Stannis had heard nothing but tales of dragons from his grandmother. He was certain Rhaegar had heard even more.

At last, Lord Tywin opened a door. He bowed. "Stannis Baratheon, Your Grace." He stepped aside and Stannis entered.

Rhaegar was how he remembered him when they'd met long ago at Storm's End, though there was now a gravity to his face that had not been there before. "My Hand tells me you have something to tell me."

"Aye." Stannis set the sack down and took a knee properly. "Your Grace, I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, pledge you my fealty and renounce my rebel brother. I put myself at your mercy." He smiled down at the carpet. _See, pirate? I_ am _capable of humility._  
  
"Rise, cousin." Stannis stood. "Be seated." Rhaegar waved him to a chair. "We have much to discuss."

"I present a gift, Your Grace. I came upon them in my travels." He handed over the sack and the king opened it. Stannis could not see his expression.

"I'm sure there is an interesting tale behind these," he said at length. "I should like to hear it." He paused. "Are they genuine?"

"Of that I am certain."

Stannis watched as Rhaegar absently stroked one of theeggs. Many times on the voyage home, Stannis had contemplated one or another of the eggs, wondering whether the dragon blood in his veins would be pure enough to forge any connection. Now he found himself wondering if Rhaegar felt something where Stannis had felt only stone.

His mind, at least, seemed to be entirely elsewhere.

"Your Grace?"

"Yes, of course." Rhaegar laid the egg aside. "I see you have been through much. I would give you a chance to rest. I will have quarters prepared for you. I accept your oath of fealty and look forward to forging a new history for our houses. I have taken my own steps to begin that and I continue it by welcoming you back. I cannot offer you Storm's End, but be assured a place will be found for you. Perhaps Greenstone? It is currently lordless."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Stannis bowed again. "I should like to see my brother, if I may."

"I will have him brought to you."

A page led Stannis to a chamber. He flopped onto the bed. He had nearly forgotten how good a soft feather mattress felt. He imagined Davos lying beside him, in their own bed in their own castle on their own lands. He would now have to imagine Greenstone in place of Storm's End, but it was not so different.

Stannis closed his eyes. The boys would be at lessons with the maester. Rain lashing the windows of their keep would be the most they had to fear from a storm.

But would he have control of his own life?

Stannis opened his eyes again. If he accepted Greenstone or some other holding in the stormlands, he would be beholden to the prince in Storm's End and ultimately to the king. Did he want to accept that? He thought of what Salladhor Saan had said, that a captain was king on his own ship. Stannis was accustomed to this sort of life, but Davos was not. He was reminded uncomfortably of his nightmare all the way back on the Isle of Cedars, of Dale, Allard, Matthos, Maric, and Renly dying.

 _They might. We might wish to be left alone but we cannot demand it. If the lord paramount or the king asks it of us, we will need to serve him._  
  
The thought weighed heavy on him. Where was Renly? If he would at least be brought to him, he might serve as a comfort. He wished he'd brought Davos with him. Davos would know what to do.

He drifted off into a fitful doze, and the nightmare of the Blackwater returned. He sat bolt upright, thought the smell did not leave his nostrils.

It was real. The castle was on fire. He threw himself out of bed and seized his cloak and sword belt.

The corridors were full of people pushing for the stairs—frightened servants and guests running for their lives. His heart was racing with thoughts of the mad king's hidden wildfire. 

_Renly. I know not where he is._  
  
People pushed past Stannis as his mind raced. He remembered being brought to court as a boy of four; he remembered he, Robert, and their father had stayed in the Maidenvault, near where he was now. He remembered his father taking them to the queen; she had sat Stannis in her lap and given him a sweet, which he remembered more than the way to royal apartments. 

It was his only chance, the only way he knew to find Renly. If Renly had not already been evacuated with the prince…

But it was not a chance he could take. He said a silent prayer to the Seven and plunged into the crowd, pushing the opposite way.


	26. Renly IX

Renly could not help scowling as he stalked behind the guard on his way back to Viserys' chamber. It wasn't fair that he didn't get to stay with Stannis. He had done exactly what he was supposed to, keeping the name of House Baratheon alive until Stannis returned to claim what was his. He ought to have been allowed to remain at his side, but Lord Tywin had dismissed him as if he were nothing more than a child.

"Well," Ser Alliser said, as Renly shuffled into the room. "Someone hunted the little fawn down."

Viserys dropped what he was doing and hurried over. "Renly! You were very naughty. Are you ready to play nice?"

Renly looked with some satisfaction at the bandage on Ser Alliser's hand. "No."

Before he could react, Viserys slapped him, his stinging cheek raising tears in his eyes. Renly raised his hand instinctively to strike back, but then he withdrew it, jamming it into his belt. "Stannis is here," he said, trying to make it look as if he hadn't been about to cry. "He found me."

"Then why are you here?" Viserys smirked. "Why aren't you following him into exile?"

Renly could play that game, too. He tossed his head. "Because he's going to get a reward from your brother."

"My brother would never reward a traitor!"

"Watch him!"

Ser Alliser cuffed Renly on the cheek. "Watch yourself, boy. The king will decide what happens to your brother, and in the meantime, you will do as the prince says."

Renly scowled, but held his tongue. It would not be long before Stannis came back for him.

"Come." Viserys grabbed his wrist. "We can get back to playing."

Now that his freedom was imminent, Renly felt a newfound courage in dealing with Viserys. He had stopped letting him win at games. This was clearly frustrating for Viserys, though it made Renly pleased to think this was the last time he would be forced to play with him.

They were in the middle of a pitched battle using all of Viserys' knights when Renly heard shouting. He looked up. Ser Alliser was at the window, watching something across the courtyard.

"Renly," Viserys said, "my foot is advancing on your right flank."

Renly did not look back to the game. He could tell by the set of Ser Alliser's shoulders that something was wrong.

"I am afraid you must leave off the game for now, my prince," he said. "We must leave."

"Why?" Viserys knocked over Renly's siege engine.

"There is a fire, my prince. It is surely not serious, but we must get to safety."

"Very well." Viserys got to his feet. "You mustn't touch the pieces, Renly; we will come back to it when we return."

 _We won't come back_ , thought Renly. _Stannis should be done with Lord Tywin by now; then we'll go home.  
_   
Ser Alliser opened the door. The corridor was filled with smoke.

"Come, my prince." Ser Alliser reached for Viserys' and tucked him securely in his white cloak. "You, too, boy. I won't have your brother blaming me for your death. Keep up."

Renly tried, but Ser Alliser was hurrying Viserys along and he could not see more than a few inches in front of him. They took several turnings and Renly suddenly realized he'd lost track of them. Ser Alliser's white cloak had been a bright spot in the thickening smoke, which stung Renly's eyes. He opened his mouth to shout for Ser Alliser but he was overcome by coughing.

Which way had they gone? Renly tried to remember which direction they'd come in when the guard had brought him from the Tower of the Hand to Viserys' rooms.

He started to run, feeling panicked. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go home. He wanted Stannis.

He stumbled into the stairwell, but there were flames there, too, now. Renly turned and ran back the way he had come. The corridor was totally deserted. 

He started to cry now. He had no idea of where he was going. His foot caught on a loose stone and he want sprawling, skinning his chin. By now he was crying too hard to get up. In the end, the dragon fire would get him, just as Viserys had always said…

"Renly! Renly!"

Renly looked up. "Stannis!" He launched himself into Stannis' arms. In all those months of waiting, he had forgotten how good it felt to be hugged, although Stannis had rarely hugged him.

"We have to get out of here." Stannis released him. "Come."

"That way's blocked," Renly said, pointing.

Stannis swore. "This way, then."

The corridor was now filled with thick black smoke and Stannis was crouched low, Renly clinging to his cloak.

There was a crash in front of them and a burning timber fell in front of their path. Stannis turned them around, but the fire was there, too. Renly shrank against him.

"I'm sorry, Renly." Stannis' hand was on his head.

"Are we going to die?"

Stannis' shortened fingers curled in his hair. "No," he said fiercely. "Come on."

They went down another corridor and were met by more flames. Stannis swung Renly onto his back and he began to run, dodging the heat.

 _We're going to die_ , Renly thought calmly, his arms tightening around Stannis' shoulders. _We'll be with Mother and Father and Robert and Whiskers.  
_   
Suddenly, there was a crash of metal and they went down hard; Stannis had run into a suit of armor. Renly could not see where Stannis was. As he tried to feel his way to him, his hand hit a stone in the wall. It pushed inward with a click.

"Stannis, there's a door."

He felt Stannis grab his shoulder. "We have no choice. Come on." He lifted Renly off his feet once more and ducked into the passage.

It was pitch dark but at least they could breathe without coughing. Stannis held Renly on his hip as he felt his way down the staircase. They could hear distant cries and Renly pressed his face into Stannis' cloak, not wanting to think about people burning and dying.

"Are we safe now?" he hazarded to ask.

Stannis hefted Renly higher on his hip. He felt like a baby being carried, but he didn't ask to be put down. "A man can never be assured of safety. We do not know where this passage leads, but it must lead somewhere."

"How do you know that?"

"Because someone must have built it and no one builds a passage that doesn't go anywhere."

After a fashion, the passage flattened out and became dirt. Presently, they came to a set of wooden bars. Through it, Renly could see a street and people running.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere in the city." Stannis set Renly down. "Stand back." He drew his sword and Renly watched as he swung it at the bars. Splinters flew and Stannis hacked desperately until he had made a gap he could squeeze through. "Come on." He held out his hand and Renly hurried forward to be pulled through.

Stannis scooped him up again and Renly looped his arms around his neck. He had missed Stannis so badly he didn't care. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

Renly looked back over Stannis' shoulder as the fire raced down Aegon's High Hill. They must have traveled a long way underground, all the way through the hillside. The Red Keep was engulfed in green flames which lit their way even though the sun had set. All around them, people were hurrying away from the fire, carrying things out of their houses and loading carts. Stannis joined the throng, unable to force his way forward, and Renly held on tight. Ash and embers drifted on the wind; they passed one house that was already aflame and Stannis had to duck through several alleys and take several turnings to get past people who were blocking the way.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Hush," Stannis said, and Renly thought that meant he didn't.

At long last, they came to the gate Renly remembered riding through when they'd arrived in the city. The crowd carried them toward the docks where people were rushing about, trying to load goods onto ships. Stannis pushed past some people carrying sacks.

"Where are we going?" Renly demanded.

"Do you remember the smuggler who saved us at Storm's End?"

"Yes."

Stannis didn't say anything further. He was running for a black ship at the last slip. On the other side of the wall, something exploded, and they were showered with bits of stone. Stannis staggered up the gangplank of the little ship.

"Here he is!" bellowed a loud voice. "His lordship returns!" Renly squinted watery eyes; through the smoke, he could see a big man with red hair.

"Stannis, thank the Seven!" The smuggler appeared suddenly, and Renly suddenly found himself squeezed between them as Stannis pulled the smuggler close with his free arm. "When the fire started, I thought I had lost you."

"You nearly did." Stannis set Renly down. He still had his arm around the smuggler. "We must leave as soon as possible. Merrett!" he called to the loud man. "Get us out of here!"

The smuggler crouched down in front of Renly. "You must be Renly. My name is Davos."

Renly could only nod. There was a lot to take in. When had Stannis become so friendly with the smuggler?

"You're bleeding." Davos reached up to touch the cut on his forehead. "Come. Let's go below and get you cleaned up."

Renly tensed immediately. He did not want to go off by himself with a stranger. "Stannis?" 

"I'm here." Stannis took his hand once more. Renly squeezed, receiving and answering one in return. They climbed down through a hatch and, before Renly's vision had adjusted to the dark, they were set upon by a horde of little boys.

"Are you all right, Stannis?" 

"Did you meet the prince?"

"Are we going to live in a castle?"

"Who's _that_?"

This last question was posed by the smallest boy who had run forward immediately and latched onto Stannis' legs. When Renly stepped behind Stannis, the smaller boy followed.

"That is Renly. Give him some space." Davos reached out and took the boy by the hand, drawing him back. "Come," he said. "Let us retire."

Renly followed Stannis to a cabin at the end of the corridor. He could tell the ship was moving because it was beginning to sway under his feet. He was conscious of the other children's eyes on him.

"Sit down," Davos said once they were all inside. "Let's get you cleaned up. Dale, can you get some clothes out of the trunk that might fit Renly? Allard, some water, Matthos, a clean washcloth… and Maric, you can sit right here and keep us company."

Davos sat Renly on a little stool and wiped his face. 

"That's my chair," Maric said.

"I know," Davos said gently. "But we can share, can't we?" 

"How did you get so dirty?"

"Let's let them rest before we hear the tale."

"It was the wildfire," Stannis said. He was at the washstand. He'd removed his cloak and jerkin and was splashing water on his face and in his hair. Dirty streams of water were running down his neck. "They must not have found the Mad King's stash before it went up."

"Why don't you change, too?" Davos suggested. "We're due to do some laundry. We can do it when we're out to sea."

Dale found some clothes and shut the lid of the trunk. "Here you go," he said, handing Renly trousers and a shirt. They were plain wool and looked scratchy.

"Put them on." Stannis dropped, exhausted into the rocking chair.

"Are you hungry?" Davos asked. "Let's bring back supper. I will need some help carrying it." His sons followed him out and finally, Renly reluctantly changed his clothes.

"Feel better?" Stannis asked.

Renly sat back down on the stool. "Are we staying here?"

Stannis' answer was immediate and firm. "Yes."

Renly looked down at the floor. "But what about Storm's End?"

Stannis sighed and leaned back in his chair, rocking irritably. "It is closed to us."

Renly picked at the patch on the knee of his trousers. These clothes had been someone else's, he supposed. Maybe Dale's. "I want to go home."

"We are home."

Renly looked around the little cabin. The bunk was covered by a cheery quilt. The other wall was dominated by a large map tacked to it. Under it was a table, with more maps. And then there was the cozy little corner where they sat, with several mismatched chairs and cushions. Some of the chairs were child-sized, like the one Renly was sitting on that was supposed to be Maric's.

He scrambled onto Stannis' knees. "I want to go home," he repeated.

Stannis sighed. "I know." He patted Renly's back. "You and I are all that is left of our family. Isn't home wherever we are together?"

"What about Maester Cressen?"

"I wish he could be with us, too, but he has a greater duty." His grip on Renly tightened. "Do you still want to be part of that world, Renly? Bow to the prince? Or do you want to be with your family? Me and Davos and his sons."

Renly turned back to look at the map. He remembered when he'd wanted to run away and join Stannis in Essos. "But I don't know Davos and his sons."

"I do. I have spent the past few months with them. They are our family now."

Renly fixed his eyes on the floor again. He didn't know how he felt about strangers being his family. He was wary of groups of children after Viserys and the other boys.

"They're good, Renly, I promise." He paused. "Davos is a good man. The children will be fine companions for you."

Renly grunted and pressed into Stannis' chest.

The door to the cabin opened and Davos and the children came back in.

"We are well on our way out to sea," Davos said, setting the tray he carried on the table. "We are safe now."

"Tell us what happened, Stannis." Maric scurried over and stopped in front of Stannis, as though offended to find someone else in his lap.

"After supper," Davos declared.

Renly found himself re-seated on the little stool and a plate of salt pork and beans put in his hands. He had forgotten how hungry he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal. It tasted good and he ate every bite.

"Was that good?" Davos asked with a smile. Renly nodded. His eyes were getting heavy.

"Stannis, tell us what happened!" Dale begged.

Stannis sighed heavily. Then he launched into the entire tale—how he'd run into Renly in the city, presented the dragon eggs to the king, and fled the fire.

"So we aren't going to live in a castle?" Allard sounded disappointed.

"I must talk that over with your father." He gave Davos a significant look, but Renly knew what the answer was going to be. He yawned.

"Bedtime," Davos announced. He stood and the other boys shuffled to their feet. "Renly can sleep in the passenger cabin for now."

He was hardly conscious of sliding off the stool and Stannis leading him by the hand from the cabin. They didn't go far down the dark corridor before passing through a narrow door. This cabin was tiny compared to the captain's, and Stannis lifted him into the narrow bunk.

"Go to sleep," he said. "We'll talk about everything in the morning."

Renly was about to beg one last time for them to go back to Storm's End but he was asleep before he could.


	27. Davos VIII

Davos had vowed that he would greet Stannis with a modicum of decorum when he returned, but as soon as Stannis opened the door to their quarters, Davos was in his arms, heedless of Stannis' stink of smoke.

"Stannis," he said simply, powerless to find any word beyond his name. 

Stannis let out a deep shuddering breath. "It is over, Davos. You can rest assured of that." He did not say what was over, but Davos could understand what he meant. He knew it had been a great loss to Stannis to leave his world behind, but Davos could not help his own selfishness now. 

"Aye." He gripped Stannis' shirt tightly. It would be maudlin to say again how much he could not stand to lose Stannis, but those were the only thoughts swirling in his mind. 

"Come." Stannis tilted his chin up to kiss him. "I confess I want nothing more than bed."

"Then bed you shall have." Davos slipped a hand in his elbow and steered him toward the bed. Their bed. Stannis shucked off his shirt and breeches, still smoke-stained as they were. 

His broad shoulders seemed to slump with weariness, but when he looked at Davos, he gave a wan half-smile. "I am glad to be home."

Davos could not have heard sweeter words.

**

They slept much longer than Davos meant to. He was at last awakened by the gentle sound of waves, punctuated by the occasional seabird call. His heart soared to be at sea. Full daylight streamed through the window, but Stannis slumbered deeply beside him, his expression for once peaceful. Davos propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at him. He deserved the sleep and truly looked at peace. 

"Stannis?" asked a small voice.

Davos sat up. Renly was standing by the bed. He still wore the hand-me-down clothes he'd been given the night before and his hair was tangled. 

"Shh, let him sleep," Davos whispered. "He had a long night."

"I'm hungry."

"Then, come on." Davos pushed the covers back and swung himself out of bed. "Let's see what Byren's got for breakfast." He dressed quickly and took a brush to Renly's hair while he was staring at the map.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Right there." He pointed the brush just past the mouth of Blackwater Bay. Renly shifted from one foot to the other as Davos gingerly worked through a tangle. "Do you know what that says?"

"The Narrow Sea," Renly read. Davos only knew it because Roro Uhoris had made him memorize the map. ("If you cannot read, boy, you must make up for it.")

"Aye."

He frowned, puzzling this over. "And where are we going?"

"To Pentos. Can you find Pentos?" He had not yet considered how he was going to explain things to Magister Illyrio, but he thought it was his duty to report to the man who had hired him, and, perhaps, offer to return the money. Very little of it had been spent; Davos had not taken well to even a moderate fortune, though he now found himself faced with feeding a family of seven.

Renly scanned the map thoughtfully. "There?"

"Exactly. One of the Free Cities" On the bed, Stannis flopped into the spot Davos had just vacated and let out a snore. "Come. You are presentable for breakfast. We mustn't wake Stannis."

He closed the door gently and peeked in on his sons. They, too, were all sleeping, so Davos led Renly to the galley alone.

Stannis' brother was gaunt and shy, his face still bearing bruises of unknown provenance. His hair did not seem to have been brushed for some time. _What horrors has this little one seen?_ Davos wondered. 

"You're safe now," he said gently. "Stannis and I won't let anything happen to you."

Renly looked up at him, then, with wide blue eyes. "You're the smuggler," he said. "You brought us the onions."

Davos smiled. "Yes, I am. We have quite a tale to tell, and it seems so do you."

"So you _did_ help Stannis escape from the storm cells." 

"Aye, I did." He paused. "I am sorry I did not insist on getting you out as well. I should have." _And then I would have let Stannis lead you away onto a Tyroshi dock to make your lives in the East and I might never have seen either of you again.  
_   
"He would have died if he'd stayed," Renly said sagely. "They would have burned him. They couldn't kill me, though, and I fought back."

The matter-of-fact way in which he said all this turned Davos' stomach. _If I had any skill as a warrior I would be at Stannis' side as he took his revenge._ Davos had always known the powerlessness of being lowborn, but now was the second time it had particularly pained him. The first had been Roro Uhoris' death, which had set him on this path, and if this was how his betters treated children he didn't feel a pressing desire to join them, no matter how much Stannis told him he would enjoy the life of a noble.

"We'll get something to eat," he said, "and then something to put on those bruises."

The galley was deserted at this hour, most of the men with morning duties having already eaten, and those who spent the night on watch having already retired. 

"Well," Byren said, "there's no mistaking the brother of our own Stannis. What's your name, lad, and your favorite thing to eat?"

"Renly. Peach tarts."

"Well, I have no peaches, but we will see about some in Pentos." He began dishing out breakfast and while it was the same unimpressive at-sea fare he always served, Renly dug in eagerly. Davos thought of Stannis' early days on the _Marya_ , and wondered how a child's adjustment would go.

Renly cleaned his plate quickly.

"Would you like more?" Davos asked.

Renly looked hesitant.

"Here." Davos spooned more food onto his own plate. "A second serving of breakfast will help us work hard all day, right, Byren?"

"Certainly." Byren turned, another platter in his hands. "A man who skips breakfast will regret it afore noon. Here. Potatoes."

Renly's eyes lit up and more food made its way onto his plate.

He ate in silence for a moment before finally speaking. "Where are we going after Pentos?"

"I suppose that's for me to discuss with your brother." Davos rested his hands on the table.

Renly studied him dubiously. "Stannis says we're to stay on the ship."

Davos tried to contain the burst of joy he felt at that statement. "Then it will be as he says."

Renly frowned. "I liked Storm's End," he said softly. "When I said so, Stannis got mad. I know we can't go back, but I miss it."

Davos stroked his hair back from his face. "I imagine he misses it, too. He loves the place."

"So do I."

Davos knew not what more to say, having never loved a home himself, at least for the home itself. He could not remember the house he'd been born in, and while he'd loved the little house he'd had with Marya, that had been for the people in it. There had been no legacy there when he had taken the children and left; the newlywed daughter of the people next door had moved right in with her new husband. 

"He says you're our family now," Renly added. He was looking at Davos warily, as though afraid Davos would reject this notion.

"We are," Davos said.

At that moment, the galley door opened to admit Stannis and the boys.

"Good morning, sleepyheads," Davos said, as the children crowded onto the benches. He kissed Stannis' cheek. "I trust you are all well rested."

"We are. And ready to make up for lost time." 

Davos so lost himself in the normal trappings of a family breakfast—making sure all bottoms stayed on seats and food went only in mouths—that he did not notice Renly slip out. 

Stannis' attention was on making sure Maric kept his porridge off his shirt. He seemed to have the situation under control, so Davos went in search of the newest member of their crew. 

And, where, Davos wondered would a little boy who was accustomed to castles go on a smuggler's ship? He smiled fondly as he remembered those early weeks with Stannis keeping to his quarters. This thought led him back their cabin, but he found no sign of Renly there. He paused to go to the medicine chest to get something for Renly's bruises.

It wasn't that he was worried that Renly might get in trouble. It was a small ship, yes, but there were men all over the place, all trained to keep an eye out for wandering children. If he was truly about to come to any harm, Davos was confident one of his men would stop it.

Davos next entered the boys' room, but there was no sign of him there either. He paused to smile fondly over the neatness; he could only imagine Stannis was responsible for the beds being made and the boys' toys and treasures being neatly contained in their boxes.

They would need to find room for Renly in here when he got more settled. Davos deeply hoped the boys would get along with him. It would be an adjustment for all of them, but they'd already undergone the adjustment of bringing Stannis into their lives.

Davos made his way further below decks. 

"He's in the hold," Wex said, squeezing past on his way back up.

Davos thanked him and climbed into the hatch.

It was dark in the hold, with the only light coming in from cracks in the ceiling above. Still, it was easy to find Renly; he was crouched under a patch of sunlight, looking at something.

"Shh," Renly reproached when Davos got closer. "She's got kittens."

Dimly, Davos realized that he hadn't seen Red Jenny in a few weeks. He'd had more things on his mind than the whereabouts of the cat.

"Let me see." He got down next to Renly, and sure enough, there she was, nursing her kittens. Two of them were calico like their mother, a third was black, and the fourth was gray. Renly watched intently, obviously struggling to suppress his childlike instinct to touch.

"Do you like kittens?" Davos asked.

Renly nodded. "I used to have one. She was orange. Her name was Whiskers." He shook his hair out of his eyes. "But we had to eat her."

This last thing was startling even to Davos, who knew very well what the Baratheon brothers had gone through before he had met them.

"You won't ever have to do anything like that again," he said fiercely, slipping his arm about Renly's thin shoulders.

"I wouldn't mind," he said, chin set in a very familiar manner. "We could not yield."

Davos would have smiled if it hadn't been so absurd to hear what were surely Stannis' words coming from a child. "You were very brave," he said finally. "Just like your brother."

At this, Renly's shoulders seemed to lift with pride. "Even when Viserys came, even when they beat me, I knew Stannis was coming back for me, so I couldn't give up." He shifted on the crate, drawing his knees up to his chest. "It's not _fair_." And then he started to cry.

Davos withheld the response he would have given one of his sons that life was not fair. _Time for that later_ , he thought. _I will be gentler now. He has been through the unspeakable._ "I know, little one." Even though he had not known Renly twenty-four hours, he pulled him close and let him sob. Stannis probably would have tried to reason with him, he reflected, so perhaps it was good that he had not sent him to find his brother.

Renly said nothing more; if there were details of his time with the Targaryens that needed to be known, they could certainly be told later. None of it mattered as far as Davos was concerned; he had succeeded in drawing Stannis away from the game, so it certainly didn't matter. Davos rubbed circles on Renly's back until the heaving sobs ceased.

"Stannis should've rewarded you," Renly said, fingers digging into Davos' shoulders. "He should've given you a title and lands and…"

"And I told him I would not know what to do with such things."

Renly looked up at him curiously. "But what does a smuggler do?" he asked, as though he had never considered any occupation other than knight or lord.

"We sail from port to port, transporting goods for whoever would hire us."

"Oh," Renly said. "That doesn't sound so bad. Stannis said you were little more than a common thief."

Davos sighed, but tried not to let Renly see it. "I think his mind has changed since then. We have had many discussions on the matter." _And are like to have many more._ "Let me put this on your bruises."

Renly squirmed at having something smeared on his face, just as any of Davos' sons would.

"Shall we go see what Stannis and the others are up to?" he asked. "We will check on Jenny and her kits later."

Renly nodded and took Davos' hand. 

The sun was climbing high in the sky when they reached the deck and Stannis and the boys were hard at work hanging clothes on the line.

"Was this the lot?" Davos asked.

"It seemed wise." Stannis accepted a pair of breeches from Dale and pinned them to the line. "It had been some time since we last washed clothes, and this morning, I discovered I left sooty marks on the sheets. I'm sorry I came to bed filthy last night."

"Stannis, I assure you that was the last of my concerns." He suddenly thought he could no longer stand not touching him. Would it be appropriate to fling himself at Stannis right now?

"How much more?" Maric asked.

"You can see our basket," Stannis told him. "That is what is left."

"But we're through with the fun part," Matthos complained. The fun part, Davos presumed, involved getting wet.

"Aye, and do not think you can leave a task incomplete." Stannis deftly tossed a sheet over the line and took a clothes pin from the hem of his shirt. He did well with his left hand, Davos noted. He was well-accustomed to his new state after so many months. He seemed much more comfortable with himself in general. _Has he found his niche outside of being a displaced lord?_ Davos felt a rising warmth in his chest at the thought that said niche might be with him and his family.

"Let them go and play," he suggested.

Stannis turned, eyebrow raised. "That is not exactly the lesson I wished to impart about following through on one's set tasks."

"One special occasion won't harm anything."

Stannis grunted, but he waved his hand in a dismissal. The three youngest charged off, but Dale lingered.

"Do you want to come play with us?" he asked Renly.

Renly looked surprised and shrank imperceptibly closer to Davos. "Go on," he said encouragingly.

Renly hesitated.

"He has been mistreated," Stannis spoke up, his words directed at Dale. "Watch out for him as you would your own younger brother."

Dale grinned. "I've already got three. What's one more?"

"Good lad." Davos tousled his son's hair and he caught Stannis smiling as Renly and Dale went off together.

"I think he'll be fine," Davos said, approaching Stannis.

"I hope so." Stannis was wrestling with a sheet and had a clothespin clenched in his mouth, and the rest of what he said was indistinct.

"What was that?" Davos took the clothespin and secured the sheet.

"I said that he will have to learn the same as I did." Stannis went back into the basket and came up with the doublet Renly had been wearing. "I know not what to even do with this. Is it worth mending?"

"I'll have it for the scrap bag." This, too, was absurd, Davos realized. That fine thing in a scrap bag? It had probably cost more to make than anything else Davos owned, certainly more than he could imagine spending on children's clothes.

Stannis snorted. "And put silk patches on my breeches?" He sighed. "I suppose I truly have left that life."

Davos stepped closer. "May I be so bold as to say I am glad to hear it?"

"You may." Stannis shook out a shirt. "I feel a new man, Davos. Reforged, in a way." Davos thought he looked unspeakably handsome in that moment, blue eyes bright, the wind tousling his hair.

"Free?" suggested Davos.

"Aye. Free." Stannis suddenly took Davos in his arms. "I love you, Davos. Do you know that?"

Davos pressed into his chest. "I love you, too."

"I was put up in a fine chamber, befitting my status. The king was going to give me Greenstone, which was my lord grandfather's seat. I have something like a blood claim to it."

"I see," Davos said patiently.

"And yet," said Stannis, "I thought of nothing but you. I want you by my side, and you would not have been satisfied by such a life. Forgive me my blindness, Davos."

"Don't let it trouble you, my love." Davos twined his fingers in Stannis' hair "The matter is over and decided. Sailors we will be."

"Aye," said Stannis, though he still seemed somewhat reluctant. He bent his head to kiss Davos, as if he had to remind himself his mind was made up. "You take me as I am. I came to you broken, with naught to my name, and you made me yours. I will find my contentment there."

"I am pleased to hear it," Davos murmured against his lips. "Now, if it would please you…" He took Stannis' wrist. "We might steal away while the children are at play."

The corners of Stannis' lips lifted. "Aye, a wise plan." He allowed himself to be led to the hatch and their quarters below.


	28. Stannis XI

"Stannis! Help me! Stannis!"

Stannis was on his feet and reaching for his sword before he became aware of where he was. In bed with Davos. Not under siege. Not with Golden Company. His sword hung by the door, for he had no need of it at sea. 

But still, someone was screaming.

Davos sat up, not even bothering with pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Renly."

"I will get him." He was already up; it was only a matter of shuffling into the next room, extracting Renly from the lower bunk where he lay with a worried-looking Matthos and Maric, and bringing him back to bed. He was whimpering against Stannis' shirt, as he had not since he was much, much younger. 

Davos turned to them, eyes still closed and extended his arm. "Shh, there are no dragons here."

Renly stopped crying shortly, as he always did, and fell deeply asleep once he was jammed between Stannis and Davos. 

This had happened every night after the first one. Stannis lay awake, listening to Renly and Davos' breathing, waiting for what would happen next. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the door opened and Maric padded into the room, climbed over Stannis, and snuggled into his side. 

He turned to look at Davos, who was wide awake.

"It will pass," he said softly. "Give it time. They all spent every night with me when I first took them to sea."

"How long did that last?"

"It will be fine."

Stannis stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him or Matthos to arrive.

In fact, no one slept well. Renly was sluggish as he followed Stannis through his chores. 

"You would sleep much better in your own bed," Stannis told him as he mopped the deck. He had insisted that if Renly was to follow him, he would help, so Renly had his own rag with which he was listlessly wiping. 

"It's not my own bed. There's people in it."

"There are people in _our_ bed. You've got even less room with me and Davos and whoever follows you." 

He did not look up. "It's scary without you." 

"You haven't been afraid of the dark in ages. Remember the siege? You slept in your own bed every night."

"That was different." He fixed Stannis with a withering look. "They were outside then."

Stannis' stomach sank. He dropped his mop and went to his knees so he could be on Renly's level. "I am sorry, Renly, truly, that you had to go through what you did. We have both fought our own battles since we parted."

Renly nodded. "I tried to be brave. I tore up all the banners and the storehouse, and I ruined the tapestry when they beat Donal Noye. I wanted to show him that House Baratheon was still alive."

Stannis squeezed Renly's shoulder. 

"And then when we were in King's Landing, I stabbed Ser Alliser." Renly pulled a large hunting knife out of his boot. 

Stannis pulled his hand back in alarm. He supposed Renly had not stabbed Ser Alliser very badly, for neither Rhaegar nor Tywin Lannister had made any mention of it. "You were very brave," he told Renly. "But you can put the knife aside for now. You are safe here."

Renly contemplated the blade. "It's Robert's knife."

Stannis relaxed. He now recognized the tooling on the sheath. "Our lord father gave Robert this knife. Grandfather carried it on the Stepstones. You may certainly keep it. A sailor needs a knife." 

"A sailor?"

"Yes." Stannis sat on the deck and Renly sat next to him. "That is what we are now. Sailors. The sea is in our blood. It is not so odd that we should be sailors." 

Renly seemed to contemplate this. He was looking at their bare feet and patched breeches.

"Your breeches are too short," he said.

"Perhaps my legs are too long."

Renly heaved an annoyed sigh. "You have become very strange, Stannis."

Perhaps he had. "I will admit I did not think this life would suit. But it does."

"Is that just because you're in love with Davos?" 

"I _am_ in love Davos," he acknowledged. It felt good to speak the words aloud and render the situation completely unambiguous. _This is how Renly will grow up_ , he thought. _He will grow up with two people who love each other and children he can play with. If they do not kill each other in the next few weeks._ "I am sure that has made this life easier to tolerate. And I invited him to live with us at Storm's End before I decided we would be happier here."

"I would rather have Storm's End."

"I know. But it isn't ours anymore."

"You could take it back. Fight for it."

"With what army? Even if I could rally the stormlords, I am just one man and have promised the king peace. If I decided I wished to take my lands back, my head would be off my shoulders before any of my lords bannermen could come to my aid. We haven't the coin to hire sellswords. The king did offer me Greenstone, but I am happier here."

"We could have had _Greenstone_?" Renly's mouth dropped open. "The king would have given it to you after Viserys took it from Alyn?"

 _So that is what happened_. "We could have. But think on this, Renly. If I was Lord of Greenstone, you would be returned to the life you just left. They might force me to send you back to Storm's End as a companion to the prince. Those boys were hostages against their fathers' loyalty, and thus would my loyalty be enforced, too."

"They'd have to treat me better if you were Lord of Greenstone. I'd be your heir."

"Aye, and you would never be free. That is what Davos taught me, Renly." Stannis lay back against the sun-warmed boards of the deck. "You would be a knight and so would Davos' sons. And then they would take you. Off you would ride in service of your prince and we might never see you again." He was remembering his dream, the young lord with his throat slit, the burning ships. "I can't have that, Renly. I certainly cannot lose Davos' sons in something he never agreed to, and I won't lose you either."

Renly looked thoughtful as though he'd never considered it like this before. "Is that how the people whose sons died with Robert felt?" 

"I would imagine so. They went to war out of loyalty to Robert, but they had naught else to gain. And you don't even like Viserys, do you?"

"No. He's mean. He took my toys, he bossed all the games. Ser Cyrian beat me." 

Stannis lifted his head. "Ser Cyrian Swann?"

Renly nodded. "He switched me. Ser Alliser wanted to beat me more, though, so I'm glad Ser Cyrian didn't let him."

Stannis' shortened fingers pressed hard into his palm. 

"That's why I wish you'd fight back," Renly finished. "What are our house words?"

"Ours is the fury."

"Then where's your fury?" Renly's eyes narrowed and he felt quite scrutinized by his baby brother.

"Right here." Stannis sat up and tapped the front of his jerkin. "Believe me, Renly, it has never left me. Not since the day they rode into Storm's End and took my fingers. But, Davos, he tempers my fury and sets me right. A man cannot hare off on emotions alone. That was how Robert met his end. Grandfather Baratheon as well who died on the Stepstones. We must master the fury and make it ours. That is what those words mean. Not just that we have the fury, but that we control it. We don't let _it_ control _us_."

Renly let out a long breath. "How do you do that? I get so mad when I remember what they did to us. I remember it all! Mace Tyrell, Axell Florent, Randyll Tarly, King Aerys, Prince Rhaegar. I was going to kill them all when I was grown. What can I do now?"

Stannis stroked Renly's hair fondly. "Find another way. We can still have our vengeance, I can promise you that."

"How?" 

"Smugglers avoid taxes," he explained. "We are contracted to move goods from port to port. Those goods may be contraband in that particular place, or the seller may simply not wish to spend any of his potential profits on tariffs and duties." 

Renly stared at him, uncomprehending.

"Davos has a good head for such things; he is wasted on such work, but he does not listen to me, so I provide my blade for his protection." 

Renly nodded. Stannis was not certain he understood, but he wasn't certain Davos' children understood either. 

"What is your favorite thing you miss about Storm's End?"

He had expected Renly would give an answer like _my toys_ , but he answered promptly, "Going up on the battlements."

Stannis almost laughed. "Oh, we have our own battlements. Come along." He crouched so Renly could climb on his back. "Hold on tightly." Renly's arms and legs locked around him. 

Stannis had become quite good at scaling the rigging, even with his shortened fingers, although he was not accustomed to forty extra pounds. Still, they made it. It was a small ship and the mast was not high.

"See?" he said, once they were in the crow's nest. He let Renly slide from his back. "This is our battlement." 

Renly peered over the edge of the basket, which was about level with his chin. "All I see is water."

"Well, that is our domain." He put his hand on Renly's back. "We come up and look for signs of storms."

"Like that?" Renly pointed. 

Stannis squinted at the horizon. It had been a clear day dotted with fluffy white clouds, but Renly had seen what Stannis hadn't—dark clouds gathering on the horizon.

"That may well be a storm," he said. "I will tell Davos; perhaps we can avoid it."

As the afternoon wore on, however, it seemed they could not change their course. The storm was coming, no matter what magic Merrett did with the sails or how Davos worked the wheel. 

"Go with Dale and _stay_ ," Stannis said firmly, pushing Renly toward the hatch before rejoining the men in lowering the sails. It was a struggle with the wind and his shortened fingers slipping on the slick ropes. They were doused with water every few seconds and his oilskin cloak soon became useless. 

He did not go belowdecks until everything tied down, and he was the last man to do so, securing the hatch behind him. He found his family where he expected to, sitting in the corner of his and Davos' cabin, though the storm was too bad even for a lantern. Davos had tied down the chairs and anything that could have broken was in the bolted trunk.

"Dry yourself off," Davos told him. No one looked particularly comfortable. Maric and Matthos were both in Davos' lap, and when Stannis had taken off his wet cloak and toweled off his hair, Renly climbed immediately into his. 

He realized he had missed this, even though Renly had often annoyed him before their separation. His last remining brother, the last of his blood. He settled Renly against his chest.

"Shall Davos or I tell the first story?" He thought he might try one of Grandmother's tales about her father, Aegon V. 

"I know a story," Renly said suddenly. "Can I tell it?"

"Of course."

Renly shifted a bit in Stannis' lap. "I am going to tell the story about when my brother met the king of the forest." He paused. "Not Stannis, my other brother. Robert."

He glanced up at Stannis uncertainly, but Stannis smiled.

"That is a good story," he said.

There was no point in dwelling on everything Robert had done to him. Besides, it would be good for Renly to keep the memory alive. He closed his eyes and let the story wash over him, hearing it for the first time the way Renly had always heard it—as a celebration of his brave brother, rather than Robert's ridiculous braggadocio. 

After Renly had finished, he snuggled into Stannis' arms as Davos told a story. 

"You were right, Stannis," Renly said quietly. "I like this."

**

They woke the next morning to a cabin in disarray. Stannis was on his back, Renly's head on his left shoulder, and Maric's head on his right. Renly was awake. 

"The storm's made a mess," he said. 

"That it did." Stannis gently moved Maric's head to the floor and rose. "Let us get on with cleaning up."

In the dawn light, he was able to get a good look at Renly. He'd been thin and miserable when they had first brought him on board, but he looked much healthier now. His grandfather Estermont would have said it was the sea air, but Stannis suspected he was just happy to be free of the circumstances that had befallen him. 

They worked together in silence to straighten up the fallen items. 

One thing by the bed drew Stannis' attention. It was the painted elephant he had purchased in Slaver's Bay.

"Come here, Renly, I have something for you."

Renly trotted over eagerly.

"I got this for you on the other side of the world." He pressed the toy into Renly's hand. "I had hoped to bring it back to join your menagerie at Storm's End, but now we can travel the world together, and I will show you real elephants. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Renly's eyes were bright as he examined the elephant. "Are they really dressed like this?"

"The ones I saw Volantis were." 

The rest of the family was beginning to stir and Stannis caught Davos' sleepy smile. He was beautiful when just woken, Stannis decided. 

"Where are we now?" Dale asked, sitting up himself. 

"We shall have to find out." Davos nudged Allard awake. "Come now, sleepybones. There is work."

As near as Davos could calculate, they had not been blown far off course, and they were pointed back towards Pentos before long. Perhaps Renly would sleep well tonight; they had certainly worked hard enough at the cleanup, and he had played well with Maric and Matthos now that he had an animal of his own. 

When they put the children to bed, they were asleep before Davos had the door closed. 

Stannis waited tensely through the night, hardly sleeping. He had not given in to temptation, for he was anticipating another cry in the night. Thus, he spent much of it lying awake, holding Davos, wondering what they would do if Renly's fears never went away.

**

"Stannis, get up, it's morning." Renly was perched on edge of the bed, already dressed for the day. He was holding the elephant. "Elenei says it's time for breakfast."

Stannis sat up, wondering how morning had come. "Elenei?" 

"That is her name." Renly began to walk her up Stannis' arm. 

_At least he is like himself again._

Stannis tousled Renly's hair, realizing he had unconsciously adopted Robert's gesture. "I agree. It is past time I was up."

"Davos said you were tired." Renly sat on the bed while Stannis washed and dressed. "But that now it was time to get up."

"How did you sleep?"

"All right. I didn't have bad dreams. Elenei would fight any dragons that came."

Stannis bit back his first instinct which was to correct this foolishness giving life to a piece of painted wood. "I am proud of you," he said. 

Renly shrugged, but that was the end of the constant nightmares.

"He seems to be doing better," Davos said, as he shut the boys' door. There had been two quiet nights, although Renly had once had to be escorted back to bed after coming to them for comfort. 

Now that his worries had lessened, Stannis' mind was on one thing entirely.

"Yes," he said, staring at the hollow of Davos' throat and the way the ends of his hair brushed it. He felt a sudden and intense pull; in the weeks that Davos had spent initiating him into the ways of pleasure, he had rarely initiated such things, but he found he desperately wanted to now, before he could stop himself and allow his better judgement to take hold.

He crouched and placed one hand behind Davos' knees, sweeping him back into his arms. Davos' eyes went round with surprise. 

"Stannis! What in the world?" Despite his exclamation, Davos was laughing. "What's got into you?" He slipped his arms around Stannis' neck. 

"You." Stannis kissed him, slowly, trying to savor this new angle that brought their faces level. He was slight, not so heavy that Stannis felt the pressing need to put him down. He made the slow, careful trip down the corridor, not wishing to bang Davos' head and ruin their night. The door proved to be his only obstacle, but even that was soon overcome and he was laying Davos gingerly on the bed.

"You ought not to have done that, Stannis," he said, stretching his arms over his head and making himself look all the more wanton. "You are setting my imagination aflame."

He set his attention to undressing Davos. This was something he had never managed, but now he wished to give Davos the same pleasure he had always been on the receiving of.

Davos smiled and settled back on the pillows, seeming to understand his aim.

There was his jerkin, which Davos slithered out of once Stannis had it unlaced. Then his shirt, pushed up slowly so Stannis could kiss the warm skin of his belly. 

And then the trousers, undone slowly, teasingly, with pauses to rub the bulge under the fabric. 

Davos' moans of pleasure raised his confidence, and he answered every one with his mouth in all of the places he had spent weeks memorizing. Any time he hesitated, Davos urged him onward in a way that was rather inspiring. He liked to feel that he was giving Davos such pleasure. 

"And what, pray tell, is your object here?" 

Stannis bit lightly on a nipple, making Davos arch beneath him. "What would you like it to be?"

Davos slid his fingers into Stannis' hair, forcing him to look up to meet his eyes. "I was hoping you might take me."

Stannis' ears burned, though since Lys, he had regularly been on the receiving end of that act. 

"It is all right if you do not wish it." Davos' hands went on petting his hair, moving down his face and over his ears. 

"I wish it." Stannis moved up to kiss his lips. "You have done so much for me. I want to give you what you desire."

He moved slowly, trying to disguise his nerves in extreme care, taking correction quickly when Davos changed their positions.

And then they were joined and Stannis completely forgot his own apprehension. 

"You are perfect," Davos breathed, and he almost half believed it.

"I love you," Stannis murmured, thinking of no other thing he could say in this moment of feeling completely enveloped in Davos, his warmth, the taste of his skin, the smell of his hair, like the soap they all used. 

"I love you, too." Davos took his hand, sucking one by one on the shortened finger stumps. This was too much for Stannis, who was losing his fight against the end, though he did not stop until he had brought Davos to his pleasure. They lay tangled together after, breathing hard, neither wanting to move. 

Stannis had a vision of the rest of his life, making love to Davos. He could very much become accustomed to this. 

He stared up at the ceiling beams above his head and let himself drift away on the sounds of the waves and the creak of the ship. 

That was all he heard that night.


	29. Renly X

The sea was all right, Renly supposed. There was a lot of it all around the ship, and there was hardly anything else to see, though Davos had pointed out a pod of dolphins to him once they were far out to sea, which made him look more closely at the wide expanse of water. He liked watching the sailors at work, too, and he had branched out from only following Stannis or Davos. Wex was friendly and never minded Renly watching over his shoulder, and Byren always gave him a taste of something when Renly found himself in the galley.

And he liked playing with Davos' sons. He had not thought he would at first, as they were lowborn and hardly knew any good game, but at least they were willing to play with him, unlike the children at Storm's End after they had become afraid of Viserys. 

And he would never admit this to Stannis, but he did not mind having to share a room, or even a bed—sometimes they got out of bed and played when Stannis and Davos thought they were sleeping.

Besides, their bed was warm and cozy, even if Maric sometimes kicked him awake in the middle of the night. 

It was on one such night that Renly was trying to get back to sleep when he heard voices coming through the knothole above his head. This happened not infrequently, as their bunk was up against the wall shared with Stannis and Davos' cabin. He had been alarmed the first time he'd heard them arguing, but Dale had allayed his fears.

"Grownups argue all the time," he'd explained. "Mostly about money or doing a job. You know they're not really angry with each other when you hear the bedropes start squeaking after." 

However, this didn't sound like arguing to Renly, nor had the bedropes squeaked. He heard boots on the floorboards, Stannis asking where he had left his boots, and then Davos' softer voice hushing him lest he wake the children. 

Renly clambered over Matthos and Maric but they did not wake. 

"Dale?" he hissed, hoisting himself up to the top bunk. "Dale?"

Dale snuffled and rolled over into Allard's side. He did not wake either.

He would have to go alone to see why Stannis and Davos were up in the middle of the night, something he had never known them to do before.

He listened at the door for Stannis and Davos to walk by, then he opened it. He was beginning to suspect that this was smuggling. He had long wished to see smuggling for himself; now was his chance. He threw one glance back to Davos' sleeping sons. They were smuggler's sons; they were surely experts on smuggling already. Renly would have to work hard to catch up.

The passage was empty by the time he stepped out and he carefully closed the bedroom door behind him. He followed the sound of voices to the hatch, scrambled up the ladder, and peeped through it. Stannis was directing men in loading sacks of something onto the skiff. 

Someone was coming close to the hatch, so Renly ducked out of the way and scrambled down the ladder to hide in the shadows. It was Davos. Renly watched as he came to a patch of floor and lifted it by means Renly could not discern. Renly's mouth dropped open. The floor was full of cargo. He watched Davos haul another sack out and then replace the trap door that had remained hidden from Renly no matter how many times he'd walked over it. 

He waited for Davos to leave before scrambling up the ladder after him. The skiff was almost full, and Renly darted toward it, keeping to the shadows as he had when he was sabotaging at Storm's End. 

It was a short drop into the small boat and Renly dove under one of the sacks, which weren't heavy. He had been hidden for only a moment when he felt the skiff shift as Stannis climbed into it. Stannis said something to Wex and the boat began to lower to the water. 

Renly peeped out from under the sack. Whatever was in it smelled good. He breathed deeply. It smelled like a banquet, like many wonderful food smells mixed together. They hadn't had anything like this since before the siege. If they had spices like this on board, why wasn't Byren making all the kinds of good spiced things they'd had at Storm's End? 

He could hear Stannis and Davos talking, but he couldn't make out what they were saying, even though they were inches away. Before long, Davos' rowing slowed and the boat jerked as Stannis jumped out. Davos helped him drag the boat up onto the beach. 

He heard Stannis speaking indistinctly; Renly realized he was speaking High Valyrian. Strange voices replied in that tongue and footsteps drew closer. Renly tensed as the starry night was suddenly exposed as a man pulled the sack off him.

The man was broad shouldered, and his hair was purple. Renly could not help gaping at him outlined against the starry sky. 

The man stared down at Renly in surprise before letting out a booming laugh that reminded him of Robert. 

"Davos, you cannot get rid of your children this way." He spoke the common tongue of Westeros now, but with a very heavy accent.

"What are you talking about, Argo?" Davos' face appeared over him. "Renly! Get out of there."

Renly climbed out of the boat. "Is your hair really purple?" he asked the man.

"Renly," Stannis said sharply, but the man called Argo only laughed.

"No, lad, my hair is not purple by nature, but purple by dye." He turned to look at Stannis. "He is not yours, is he, Davos? I see now he has not your look. This is your bodyguard's son."

"He is my brother." Stannis reached out for him and Renly came over. Stannis rested his hand on his shoulder. 

"Ah, either way, he is your very image. Learning your brother's trade then?"

Renly looked up at tall, broad Stannis. He was standing perfectly still, the night air ruffling his short hair, which was just boring black.

But he did have a sword. He wondered if Stannis had ever killed someone in defense of Davos.

"I guess." He didn't know what he was going to be when he grew up now. If they weren't going home, he wouldn't be a knight. 

One of Argo's companions, a man whose hair was green and pink, nudged him and said something in their tongue. Then there was a lot of talking in High Valyrian as Stannis translated for Davos. Renly crouched and began digging a shell out of the damp sand. It was starting to get cold, here by the sea, and he was glad when Davos and Stannis at last shook hands with the men and sent them off with the sacks. 

"Come on," Davos said, taking Renly's hand and leading him back to the boat. 

"Can I dye my hair?" 

"No," Stannis said, at the same time Davos said, "What color did you have in mind?"

"Purple." Renly yawned. " _Maybe_ blue."

"It would certainly look quite striking with your eyes," Davos said cheerfully, lifting him in the boat. "When you are a man grown."

Renly frowned. That seemed ages away. How was he supposed to wait that long? 

Davos rowed them back to the ship, and Renly sat across from him next to Stannis.

"I cannot fault you your curiosity," Davos said. "Now you know what we do." 

Renly yawned again. "Is it always at night?" 

"Often." 

"Hm." He didn't remember the rest of the trip back to the ship. He remembered being lifted out of the skiff and following Stannis down to the bedroom, where he crawled back in with Matthos and Maric. Neither of them stirred. He heard Stannis and Davos go into their room, but could only make out the low rumble of their voices and Davos' laughter before sleep claimed him.

**

Renly was tired the next morning, finding it hard to keep his eyes open at breakfast.

"We should be docking in Pentos tomorrow if the winds hold," Davos said, taking a bite of salt fish. Renly was getting tired of salt fish. It was just like before the siege had been lifted. 

"What's Pentos like?"

"You'll see." Davos smiled. "We have some business to conduct, but after that, we'll all go into the city together."

Stannis took a bite of his hardtack. "Assuming the business goes well."

"Yes. Assuming the business goes well."

"What would go wrong?" Allard asked. Renly frowned. Would Stannis have to use his sword?

"Nothing is likely to go wrong," Davos said, though he cast a very grownup look at Stannis. "But we're going to have to tell Magister Illyrio we do not have his dragon eggs."

Dale's eyes went wide. "Is he going to be mad?"

"I have the contract," Stannis said. "Which he gave to your father knowing he could not read, giving us the measure of the man, I would say. He wanted you illiterate so you would not discover the cargo's worth and steal them for yourself."

Davos smiled. "No, you did that, Stannis."

Stannis' face reddened. "As was my right. In a manner of speaking."

"He said he wouldn't blame you, Father," Dale said suddenly. "Did you remember? Magister Illyrio did say that."

"He did indeed." 

Renly and the others spent much of the day on deck, all of them wanting to be the first to spot land. In the end, it was Dale, which was hardly fair since he was the oldest and had so much experience at sea. They stayed on deck, watching the men dock the ship. Almost as soon as the ship was secure, the men went off into the city. When Renly asked Stannis where they were going, all he would say was that it was in pursuit of foolishness. Renly took that to mean it must be fun and vowed that he would find out as soon as he was old enough. 

"Who's going with you, Father?" Allard asked the next morning at breakfast.

"I was thinking we might take Renly. It is his first time, and he is eager to learn the trade. Would you like to come? I like to give everyone a turn, and you have not had one." There was a twinkle in Davos' eyes which said he remembered Renly's adventure the other night.

"Oh, yes!" Renly jumped off the bench. "Can I, Stannis? Can I?"

Stannis frowned. "If you are good. These are serious negotiations. You must been seen and not heard. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Stannis." He knew this was no time to argue, even if Stannis was being unreasonable. 

He sat back down and resumed eating, wanting to show Stannis how good he could be. He did not reach over other people for things, or chew with his mouth open, or stand on the bench even once. He was ready to go when Stannis was, and he held Davos' hand obediently as they walked down the gangplank. 

There were people everywhere, more people than Renly had ever seen in one place, speaking more tongues than he'd ever heard. People jostled them and Davos held his hand tighter. Stannis' hand was on his sword and he watched everyone suspiciously.

And it _stank_. It smelled like a combination of the privy and the back of the kitchens. Renly wrinkled his nose. There was trash everywhere and people going to the privy wherever they felt like it. 

"I don't like Pentos," he whispered to Davos.

"All ports are like this," Davos answered, squeezing his hand. "We are not even through the gate yet."

Renly looked up. The city walls stretched high above their heads, red brick gleaming in the sun. They joined the throng of people passing through the gates. 

"Watch your step," Davos told him, but it was hard to do that. There was so much to look at.

Vendors shouted at them in different languages and Renly's eyes swept over their wares—strange fruits, beautiful clothes, and one stall which Davos covered his eyes when they passed. 

They made their way through winding streets, Stannis ever watchful. They turned onto a street with large houses, all of which had guards. 

Stannis stopped in front of one. "This is the one."

He stepped forward and bowed low before the guards at the gatehouse before speaking to him in High Valyrian. The gate opened and Davos and Renly were ushered inside. One of the men tried to stop Stannis from entering but Stannis only glowered at him and removed the guard's hand from his arm.

"What did you say to him?" Davos asked when Stannis had joined them. 

Stannis' lip curled. "I told him my master does not employ me to wait outside."

They walked down a long corridor and Renly slid his feet over the smooth floor. "Can we live in a place like this?" he whispered to Davos.

Davos smiled. "It would cost a great deal of coin to live in a place like this. More than I have seen in all my life."

The guard led them into a courtyard, where a fat man with a forked beard sat. This, Renly supposed, was Magister Illyrio. He didn't look at all how Renly had pictured him. _Magister_ conjured images of a strong, handsome, forceful man, like the portraits of his father that had been at Storm's End before the Targaryens had come.

"Ah, we meet again." Illyrio made to rise from his chair, then thought better of it. "Did you have a fruitful trip?" His eyes fell on Stannis, who squared his shoulders and lifted his head. He looked like a real bodyguard. "I see you come with protection now."

"I was enlightened as to the wisdom of it when I was so far from home," Davos said. "My bodyguard is lately of Golden Company."

Stannis inclined his head, but said nothing. This, Renly could see, was a sort of game. They were pretending. Stannis was a servant, and servants, like children, didn't speak unless spoken to. 

"Did you find the boy there, too? He is fine-looking."

Renly felt his cheeks burn as Illyrio studied him. He hadn't expected to be noticed, and he didn't like it at all. He stepped back against Davos. 

"My brother." It was the first thing Stannis had said, and his voice had an edge of steel in it. 

"Ah, is that so? I suppose you are quite attached to him, then." Magister Illyrio steepled his fingers. "I must get to the matter at hand, Davos. It is curious that neither you nor your man have anything with you."

"Aye, we come empty handed, to our utmost regret. Master Jaxos declined to hand over the cargo."

Magister Illyrio stroked his forked beard. "That is unfortunate."

Davos told a story, but it was not the story Renly had heard. The man in Slaver's Bay had refused to give Stannis and Davos the cargo, so they had come immediately back to Magister Illyrio. It _was_ a game, Renly realized, just as doing what Viserys said had become a game. He grinned.

"I see." Magister Illyrio stroked his beard and looked thoughtful. "An arresting tale." 

Stannis' chin rose, but he said nothing. Renly had the sense, from knowing Stannis, that he wanted to argue, but there was nothing to argue, if they were supposed to be pretending that everything Davos had said was true. 

"Every word of it is true!" Renly put in, hoping to bolster Davos' case.

Davos' arm snaked around his shoulders and tightened. This felt like a signal to say no more. 

Davos bowed, not letting go of Renly. "With respect, magister, we apologize for our failure." 

"No matter, Davos." Illyrio waved his hand, which glittered with many rings. "One cannot be blamed for events beyond one's control, and I do not doubt your story, if the lad vouches for you. I have heard whisperings from your homeland that entertain me far more than your tale. If my cargo reached another port, I am sure it is better for all involved that it is there. In the meantime, I have another job for you, if you would be willing to undertake it." 

Stannis strode forward and bowed deeply. "Magister, I will discuss the terms with you."

As Stannis and Illyrio talked out a new deal, Renly let his attention wander while Davos absently stroked his hair. 

"Can I ask a question, Davos?"

"Later."

Renly's mind raced with the many things he had witnessed. He couldn't wait to tell the other children about it and ask Davos to explain the things he was wondering about. He was trying to memorize every detail of Magister Illyrio's manse, too, so he could tell the others.

"Come along," Davos said gently, taking his hand. 

"Davos," Renly said urgently, unable to leave without having just this question answered, "that statue hasn't got any clothes on."

"Aye." Davos was smiling. "That is the way of it with statues. Some sculptors seem to think of nothing else."

"Nothing else but what? Is it hard to put clothes on a statue?" 

"We will talk about this later," Davos said, pulling a bit more forcefully than he had been wont to do. They said nothing more until they were outside.

"That was not so bad," Davos said, turning to smile at Stannis.

Stannis grunted. "Against what are you measuring that?"

"Your brother is very gloomy," Davos said to Renly.

"I know," Renly said. 

Davos was grinning up at Stannis, and Stannis was smiling down at him, looking very silly, as often he was when he looked at Davos. Renly hoped he never got like that, ever. It was weird. 

"I am cautious," Stannis corrected. "Someone must be." Saying this, he put his hand on the pommel of his sword and scanned the street as they walked, as though they were about to be set upon by thieves. "I am your bodyguard; it is my job. He could have been so angry he had you killed."

"Stannis, I thank you for protecting us, but you are new to the smuggling game. Clients don't kill smugglers often; I was there to do a job cheaper than another so he offered it to me."

Stannis grunted, which showed he didn't like that answer, but he said nothing more about it. "They're delivering the cargo tonight. We'll need to be ready for it."

Renly could tell Stannis and Davos were in better spirits as they headed back to the dock, despite Stannis' apparent dissatisfaction. The other boys flocked to them when they stepped onto the deck and Renly was pleased to be able to regale them with tales of Illyrio's manse, including that of the naked statue. This impressed everyone and was the talk of lunch. 

"If I had such a statue," Allard declared, "I would have the water come out of its—"

"Boys, can we speak of something else?" Davos said. 

"I will be starting a log," Stannis put in, scooping up another spoonful of stew. "I've obtained a book and pen and ink for the purpose. I think it prudent to record all our contracts and how much we receive for them so that we may approach the future in a more orderly manner."

Davos frowned. "Is that wise, Stannis? To keep such things in writing?"

"Well, I shall hide it." Stannis sounded irritated that Davos had not thought he would do this anyway. "And I shall write it in a sort of code that only we know, which would be impenetrable for others." 

"Can I learn it?" Dale asked.

"Yes," Stannis said firmly. "You all must learn to read and write." He glanced at Davos. "So may your father if he wishes it." 

Davos shook his head. "I am too old, Stannis."

"Nonsense. No one is too old for learning. Nevertheless, the children must all learn."

"That I heartily agree with."

Dale looked excited and started asking Stannis questions about reading; Renly was only annoyed that lessons would continue, even out at sea 

"I can read," he said. 

"I know," Stannis said, fixing him with a very serious look. "You must be my helper."

Renly smiled. That actually sounded rather important.

**

After lunch, Byren revealed a surprise—he had bought peaches and needed Renly to help him make peach tarts. They had them after supper, while sitting on deck. It was pleasant to sit out in the fresh air, which almost felt like Renly imagined spring to be, though Davos told him it was only the way it was in Pentos. 

Renly and the others chased each other about on deck until the stars came out and the men began to play music. 

"You should dance, Father!" cried Matthos. 

Davos shook his head, but the cry was soon taken up by the crew. 

"I will dance," Davos said, and then turned, "if Stannis dances with me."

Stannis jerked his head up from the fishing net repairs he had been concentrating on. "Me?"

"Come on, Stannis," said Wex. "We want to see you dance."

Stannis went back to his work. "I don't dance."

"Are you certain?" Davos moved closer, and Renly noticed the back of Stannis' neck got red. "Are you telling me you are a man of the stormlands who can't jig?"

"I _can_ ," Stannis spat, "but I don't."

"You danced at the wedding," Renly reminded him. "Our cousin's wedding."

Stannis ground his teeth, but Renly was pleased to have remembered this. 

"Now you must show us," Davos said.

Stannis regarded it for a moment and then rose, laying his net aside. "I will show you."

He moved to the center of the deck where the men were watching. Wex put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Stannis glowered at him.

"Something of the stormlands, if you please," he told the musicians. 

They briefly conferred with each other, then the piper began to play. Renly recognized it as something Robert had often had played in the hall. Renly did not know the title, but Stannis said it was something lewd.

Stannis rolled his eyes, but he began to tap his feet. Renly knew he hadn't wanted to dance at the wedding, either; it had been expected of him, and all the men had done it. 

Soon, he began to pick up his feet, in time to the music. At first, his pace was slow, but as the music rose, he went faster and faster, until he was leaping high off the deck, kicking his feet out. The men began to clap in time to the music. 

"Davos, I believe you said you would join me," Stannis said, not slowing his pace. 

Davos smiled and leaned back on his hands, giving no indication of getting up. "Ah, but when I saw how well you danced, I could not bear to be overshadowed by you."

Stannis' jaw tightened, as he concentrated on his final steps. He was leaping high now, and kicking his feet out to the sides, his arms held rigidly behind him. Renly could not help but tap his feet to the music, though he could not dance as fast as Stannis. 

The music came to an abrupt halt, and so did Stannis. He bowed low, then returned to his seat and picked his net up again, as though nothing had happened.

The men whooped and cheered, and Stannis looked up with a small smile. "There," he said. "You have seen stormlands dancing." 

"More!" cried Matthos and Maric. "More!" 

"Perhaps another time," Davos said. "Now it is time for bed."

"Oh, no, please, can we stay up? Please!"

Renly added his voice to the protests. "I want to hear more music!" 

Davos smiled. "I suppose. It is such a nice night." He glanced over at Stannis. "What say you?"

"As long as you all get up in the morning without complaint."

Matthos and Maric whooped with joy and resumed running about on the deck, but Renly sat down next to Stannis. 

"Are you tired?" Stannis didn't look up from his net. Even with his shortened fingers, he worked steadily to tie the strands. 

"No. I want to watch you." He lay down and rested his head on Stannis' legs. 

The men who were playing music began to play a slow song and Davos began to sing as he took up the other end of Stannis' net.

"You can't be comfortable," he said to Renly, shifting Renly's head so it lay in his lap. He did not even say anything about going to bed.

Renly watched the stars through the net, the movement of Davos' hands threatening to lull him to sleep.

He would not sleep yet. He wasn't the least bit tired.


End file.
